Epic, A Grimm Story
by Bymaga Jones
Summary: Two years after a devastating loss, Nick finds himself searching for an old friend.
1. Chapter 1

"Epic" diverges from canon some time around the middle of the third season, although the story begins about two years after that.

I want to thank SquidgiePDX for being the most amazing alpha and beta reader EVER. You made this story shine. Thank you for helping me get the voices right, for sharing your extensive knowledge about pretty much everything in life so I could add wonderful details (things like trivets!) and make the story that much better. Any remaining mistakes are all mine.

The story is complete, and I'll post one chapter each day so I can review each chapter one more time.

Chapter 1

Monroe lay in a pool of a mixture of his blood, urine, and sweat, twitching from the enhanced Taser, the prongs of which were still embedded in his skin. He was prepared when the boot kicked him in the stomach, rolling him over onto his back, and he automatically took a breath just before the shock of water smacked him. Absently he wondered how many times they'd gone through this, his captors and him, but as with everything useless, he let the thought wither and fade from his mind.

Eventually all the filth had been sluiced off him, disappearing into the drain in the center of the floor, and he was kicked back onto his stomach, his cue to slowly raise to his knees and then pull himself up using the bars of the side of the cage. His wheezes and the clang of his handcuffs hitting the metal seemed to echo in the otherwise silent room, but he was used to it by now. They all were.

Limping down the hallway, he took it slowly, knowing to brace himself sporadically for the jabs from the two shrouded men guarding him.

He wasn't sure how long it took for the scent to catch his attention. Faint, tinged with fear and… something he couldn't quite grasp. Even drugged his ears picked up a faint whine, and he cut his eyes to the right as he passed the normally empty cages around him. And that's when he saw it – her – standing in a cage, weeping silently. His heart twisted painfully when he realized that the smell was a Fuchsbau, also naked and very, very pregnant.

He didn't pause and was careful not to show that he'd noticed her in any way. His mind, sluggish after deliberately trying not to think after all this time, tried to grasp the fact that there was a female in one of these large cages.

His cage, the last on the left, smelled of bleach as it always did when he came back, the diluted solution still dripping off the cage's metal walls.

One last shock against the small of his back sent him crashing onto the floor as the door was closed, the lock sliding into place.

He lay there after the pain had receded, long enough for him to stop twitching and seeing spots, and for the first time in a very long time the person his mind conjured up wasn't of the Grimm he'd left behind.

M

Captain Sean Renard stood inside his office, staring into the bullpen. Nick Burkhardt sat at his old desk, finishing the paperwork for the newest bounty he'd brought in a few minutes earlier. The former detective's past two and a half years had been filled with pain and loss, leaving him with strands of grey in his hair and new lines on his face. He was still a striking man, but his few smiles tended to be tinged with a hardness that was a shame to see. Life for a Grimm was never meant to be easy; that was a fact that everyone knew and understood – everyone except for Burkhardt, who'd attempted to have it all – his career as a cop, his human girlfriend, Blutbad best friend, and his life as a Grimm. Nick had given destiny the finger, and despite all that he knew to be true, Sean had hoped that Nick would succeed. And that was probably why he was about to call the man into his office and turn his life around. Again.

He strode out of his office, standing until he'd gotten the attention of everyone in the bullpen – except for the one he wanted. He flitted his eyes over to Nick.

"Hey," Hank Griffin, Nick's former partner, reached over and tapped Nick's arm, "the Captain wants to see you."

Sean waited for Nick's gaze before crooking two fingers and returning to his office, confident that Nick would follow him. He knew without turning around that Nick and Hank were sharing amused glances, and he admitted to himself that old habits died hard. Sure, Nick wasn't directly in his employ anymore, but even if he didn't still live in Sean's canton, his wellbeing would always be in Sean's mind. Seating himself behind the desk, he motioned for Nick to come further into the room. "Shut the door and have a seat."

Nick sat, crossing an ankle over his knee. His stillness was something else that he'd gained over the past few years, an invisible shell to hide the lava that flowed inside him.

Flipping open a folder on top of his desk, Sean studied the contents and took a moment to reflect on what he was about to do. Finally, he sighed, closed the folder, and looked back up at Nick. "How are things?"

Nick blinked, and Sean suppressed a smile. He always kept a firm, professional line between himself and his detectives, and that hadn't changed since Nick's resignation. It didn't mean that Sean didn't care; he just obtained his information from other sources. "Things are fine."

"And is your detective agency working other cases or primarily hunting down bounties?" Sean kept his tone even, nonjudgmental, not wanting the other man to become defensive. He already knew the answer but wanted to hear it from Burkhardt himself. He also knew about the rigorous physical training and Grimm work the former detective used to fill up the rest of his free time, but that wasn't his current focus.

"Mostly the bounties, but I've gotten other cases here and there."

"And have you come to terms with what happened?"

Nick didn't look as surprised as Sean had expected, given the change in topic and the sensitive nature of the new one. "I'm fine, thanks."

"And your feelings toward Monroe?"

Nick's eyes widened slightly, his posture becoming a little more defensive as he planted both feet on the ground and lifted his chin. "I haven't heard from him, if that's what you're asking."

"I'm wondering if you're still harboring him ill will."

"I wasn't –" Nick slid forward in his chair until his forearms almost rested on Sean's desk. "That night all I could see was what I'd lost, and I threw all the blame on Monroe. A few minutes later, I realized how wrong I was, and I went to apologize."

"But he was already gone," Sean finished and paused. "So you'd be interested if I'd ascertained his whereabouts."

Nick looked uncertain and sat back. "I hope he's found some kind of peace… wherever he ended up."

"He landed in Alaska and seems to have kept to himself for the most part. Unfortunately…" Sean slid the folder across the desk with his fingertips.

Nick's eyes fell to the folder, but he made no move to toward it. He took a few breaths before he said, "Is he." Nick stopped, then tried again. "Is he still alive?"

"He was as of a month ago." Sean gestured toward the folder. "He hasn't been seen lately, causing some of the local villagers to report his absence to their local constabulary." Sean noted the flicker in Nick's eyes. "My verbiage may sound a bit archaic, but some of those rural areas in Alaska rely on Village Public Safety Officers rather than police departments."

Nick nodded. "Understood." His hand reached out, snagging the folder and opening it.

"I understand if you have other commitments, but I have a contact who could help ease the way should you want to go up there and assist in the search."

Nick's head was already buried in the folder. "I'll try to catch the earliest flight out."

"We can do better than that," Sean said, reaching for his cell phone. "Give me a few minutes."

Nick still understood a dismissal, nodding and leaving the office, his eyes glued to the contents of the folder.

Pressing a few buttons, Sean waited until the other end picked up. "We have a go. How much time do you need to arrive?"

M

Nick could feel his heart pounding as he read over the sketchy police report. The last night he'd seen Monroe had been by far the worst night of his life, and not a day went by that he didn't replay the hateful words he'd said to his best friend. He'd searched in vain for months after Monroe had disappeared, but he'd never managed to find a single thread. He still kept out feelers but had begun giving up hope; the only thing that had kept him going was the wish that somehow, somewhere, Monroe had made peace with himself and was living a life he deserved. Now looking at the folder, he knew he'd just been trying to fool himself.

"What'd the Captain want?" Wu – Detective Wu, Nick had to keep reminding himself – asked, sitting at his desk, Nick's old desk.

"He found Monroe. In Alaska."

"What?" In a flash, Hank and Wu were looking over his shoulder at the folder.

"What's that," Wu asked, pointing toward a picture. "A pile of sticks in the woods?"

"According to the report, that's where Monroe's been living."

"It looks like a real hopping hangout," Wu said.

Nick couldn't tear his eyes away from the report and let Hank roll his eyes.

"I'm just saying," Wu said, reclaiming his seat and refocusing on his and Hank's current case.

"What's the plan?" Hank asked quietly.

Nick shrugged. "I have to go find him."

"I know you still have…" Hank searched for the words for a second, "…unresolved issues between the two of you, but this," he pointed to the ramshackle hut in the picture, "screams angry Blutbad to me."

"He's not angry," Nick said. "He's in pain… pain that I helped cause."

"Okay. I have some time saved up –"

"I appreciate it, man, I really do. But I have to do this alone."

Hank looked worried. "You need someone to have your back."

"I'll be okay," Nick insisted. "I promise that I'll stay in touch."

Captain Renard appeared at Nick's side, paper in hand. "Here's the address to a private airfield and the name of the contact who will meet you there tomorrow morning."

"Thanks," Nick said, hoping the captain knew how much this meant to him.

The captain smiled faintly while Nick looked enviously at his hair, not a spot of grey in it anywhere, and wondered how, after all this time, he hadn't seemed to age a day.

"That gives us time to have a goodbye dinner," Wu said.

"Sounds good," Hank chimed in. "You can give me your keys, tell me how often to water your plants."

"Any plants he might have had are long dead," Wu said. "But I'll help look out for your place too."

Only men who had his back wouldn't mention the fact that his 'place' was the crappy back room of his crappy PI office in a crappier office building in the crappiest part of town. But even so, he did have a few things he'd like to have waiting for him when he returned, hopefully with Monroe back where he belonged.

"Meet you at the diner at six unless you get a break on your case?"

Hank and Wu nodded, and Nick turned back to Renard. "Thank you, Captain," he said, holding up the folder, "for everything."

Renard nodded and held out his hand. "Good luck."

Nick shook it, grabbed the bounty check Wu held out to him, and left as he tried to remember when he'd last updated his will.

Later that evening, Nick, Hank, and Wu sat at the table of their favorite diner, plates clean. Nick slid a large manila envelope in front of Hank.

"What's this?" Hank asked, turning it over to find it unaddressed.

"It's a copy of my updated will, all my accounts and passwords, and a power of attorney giving you unrestricted access to everything I own."

Wu's hand appeared on the table.

"I can't – "

"When I come back, and I _will_ come back, I'll expect that envelope to look just as untouched." Nick smiled to ease the tension.

"Okay," Hank sighed.

Wu's hand slid a little closer to the middle of the table.

"And this way, I guess, if you need money wired to you or something, I can do that." Hank smacked at Wu's fingers just as they were about to touch the envelope. "Stop being so nosy."

Wu snatched back his hand, rubbing it with the other and tossing Hank an exaggeratedly hurtful look. After a second, he looked at Nick. "You need a ride to the airport?"

"I have to be there at six am."

"Hank would love to take you."

That night, every time he closed his eyes, Nick relived last time he'd seen his best friend, the devastated look on Monroe's exhausted, soot-smudged face haunting him.

After a few hours, he got up and went for a long run through the empty streets, hoping that soon he'd be able to set eyes on the man who had been constantly at the back of his mind for over two years.


	2. Chapter 2

Five-thirty, Nick opened the door to find both Hank and Wu waiting for him.

"What?" Wu asked. "You thought I'd let you leave without a proper goodbye?"

Nick smiled at the two men, thankful he'd had them to keep him sane. The smile faded as he picked up his bag and thought of Monroe, feeling alone and guilty in the world with no one to watch his back. Nick promised himself that he'd do whatever he had to do to earn Monroe's forgiveness. Maybe they couldn't get back to the friendship they'd once had, but Nick was going to be thankful for whatever space Monroe allowed him to have in his life. He'd known that Monroe had somehow become important to him, but he didn't realize how much until it was too late and Monroe was gone.

The detectives dropped him off at a ramshackle hut beside a large airplane hanger, and he waved them off when they suggested that they stay until he made contact. He didn't know a lot about Captain Renard, but one thing was certain: the man kept a lot close to his vest. For some reason, Nick had the feeling that Renard's contact wouldn't be interested in making a whole lot of new friends either.

"Hello?" He called, opening the door to the shack, his eyes automatically looking in every corner. But there wasn't much to see: a desk that looked like it had seen better days, a calendar from five years earlier tacked on the back wall, and an old fashioned telephone with a rotary dial. Shrugging, Nick closed the door and turned around to find a tall man walking toward him from the hanger.

Underneath his cowboy hat, the man had long, black hair hanging past his shoulders, and as he got closer, a slight Asian slant to his eyes. The rest of his outfit, flannel shirt, worn jeans, and western boots, didn't give anything else away.

"Nick?" The man asked, holding out his hand.

"Darren," Nick said, remembering the name on the paper as he returned the man's firm grip.

Darren nodded, his eyes dropping to the solitary bag at Nick's feet. "That all you got?"

It was Nick's turn to nod. Unsure of what to expect, he'd debated about packing some of his wooden weapons that wouldn't set off a metal detector, but he still didn't want to have to explain them if security had given them a closer look. He'd also never been to Alaska, but he'd packed the warmest clothes that a police detective who'd lived in Portland for most of his adult life had in his closet. He figured he could find a way to outfit himself with anything else he needed once he got there.

"Let's go then." The man turned and led Nick to the hangar, opening the door to reveal a plane that was definitely better taken care of than the neglected office.

"We'll be taking the Challenger," Darren said, leading the way to the plane. Nick looked around the hanger curiously. "Don't have to go through security this way," the man added, evidently reading Nick's mind.

Sighing, Nick took a moment to think longingly of the weapons he'd left behind before pushing it aside to focus on the job – and the plane – ahead of him. He'd never even been inside a private plane – he didn't count the time he'd been zombified, because he couldn't remember it – but as he sat down in one of the plush chairs, he thought he could get used to it very quickly.

Darren knocked on the closed door at the front of the plane, and Nick saw a flash of a dark blue uniform as Darren and the pilot spoke quietly for a few seconds before Darren nodded and closed the door.

Darren sat across from Nick, pulling some papers out of a briefcase resting on the floor beside his chair. For a brief second, Nick wondered idly if the man had correctly assumed where Nick would choose to sit or if it had been a coincidence, but his attention became riveted to the pictures and documents being laid out on the table in front of him. Shoving aside copies of the pictures Renard had shown him earlier that he'd already committed to memory, he focused on the new images.

"We just obtained these a couple of hours ago," Darren said. "They conducted a search within a five mile radius and found these." He pointed to one of the pictures.

"Footprint," Nick said, noting the measurement tape in the image. "A man's footprint," he amended.

"Not your man's," Darren said.

Nick blinked. His man. He supposed at one point in time, Monroe had been his man, but his hateful words had ruined all of that. Despite that, he found he liked hearing it and didn't correct the other man.

He supposed it was his being accustomed to Renard's absolute competence that it took him a few seconds to realize that Darren already knew Monroe's shoe size.

They went over the rest of the new documents, evidence that Monroe had probably been taken by force, but Nick found a few holes he wanted filled, and he definitely wanted to walk the area personally.

Darren nodded, checking his watch. "We should have a little more than two hours left of flight time; feel free to rest up some. I'm sure you're used to staying awake for long periods of time, but we don't know what we're going to find up there."

Nick nodded. He wasn't sure if he could possibly sleep any better than he had the night before, but he figured it wouldn't hurt to give it a try. He watched Darren collect the pictures, sliding them back into the briefcase, before he closed his eyes.

A firm hand on his shoulder woke him up.

"We'll be making our descent in about twenty minutes, but I wanted to go over your equipment."

Blinking a few times to wake himself up, Nick realized that his feet were elevated and a blanket now covered him. He must've been really out of it to have slept through all of that, and he had to admit that he was feeling pretty well rested, all things considered.

"Here. Black, right?"

Nodding and muttering his thanks, Nick grasped the coffee mug with both hands and inhaled the strong scent. It smelled like one of Monroe's expensive brands, not the cheap stuff in his office and at the station. Taking a sip, he almost smiled. Monroe would love it.

Darren dropped back into his seat, dragging Nick's attention to the fact that the little table between them was now gone. His curiosity about that dimmed the moment he noticed the large black bag now taking the table's spot.

Unzipping the bag, Darren took out a large coat. "It's January in Alaska, and we're not going to be hanging out in a mall in Anchorage. You're gonna need more than that leather jacket to keep you warm."

Nick had also brought a knitted hat, but he just kept that wiseass comment to himself and listened as Darren detailed the other items in the bag. He didn't even bother to question if everything were going to fit him.

Nick felt a little ridiculous after he'd gotten dressed, even after seeing Darren dressed in pretty much the same outfit. But Darren sported his winter gear with the ease that Nick wore his jeans and leather jacket while Nick's new jacket and boots made strange noises every time he moved.

The moment he descended the stairs, he stopped worrying about how he looked and wondered if Darren sported some sort of invisible mask to keep his face from splintering into a million pieces. He took a breath and could swear he felt ice shards piercing his lungs. He'd known Alaska was cold; he just had never felt that his blood was beginning to freeze.

An SUV rested a couple of feet away, and the front door opened, revealing a tall African American woman who smiled as she climbed out, pressing a quick buss over Darren's lips.

Darren smiled and patted her on the shoulder, asking, "Where's the LEO?"

"He got called on a domestic, asked me to come pick you up." She looked at Nick and held out her hand. "Ca'Trena." Her head flickered to the car, and Nick saw a large shape moving in the back seat. "And that's Meka. She's friendly, but she's a space hog."

He shook her hand and nodded, introducing himself, noting the wedding band on her finger. "You'll be able to take us to Monroe's home?"

She looked over at Darren, who explained, "that's his name. Monroe."

"What did he call himself?"

Ca'Trena lifted a shoulder. "Never said. We call him Ieukpasrugruk. It means, 'giant' in Inupiat." Hop in.

The drive was mostly silent. Nick sat in the back, trying to take everything in at once.

Even though it was still early, the day felt like dusk, the sun setting. Although he couldn't really see much because it was still quite dark out despite the early hour, he found the view breathtaking. The area was flatter than he expected, although he could make out several mountains in the distance. The white snow fairly gleamed in the faded light.

Meka, the German shepherd, kept trying to lay her paws and head on Nick's lap, each time being restrained by a stern, "Meka!" from Ca'Trena in the front seat.

Finally Nick said, "I don't mind," and let Meka spend the rest of the drive drooling onto Nick's new insulated pants without being chastised. He found himself scratching her between her ears and thought briefly about getting his own pet once he returned home. Then he remembered his crazy schedule and small living space and decided to just enjoy the moment.

His innate curiosity getting the better of him, he leaned forward slightly and looked at Ca'Trena. "I hope I'm not being out of line, but I'm thinking you aren't originally from here."

She laughed. "My mom's Army, and she got stationed up here at Fort Richardson my sophomore year in high school." She gave Darren a soft look. "We met my third day here."

Darren snorted. "She hated me."

"I hated Alaska," she corrected. "Anyway, he grew on me, and we got married after college."

Nick tried to imagine such a simple connection. He'd loved Aunt Marie and knew she'd loved him in her own way, but he wouldn't be able to sum up their relationship in such few words. He supposed he and Juliette'd had a somewhat easy relationship until his Grimm powers had kicked in, but even then, he hadn't managed to ask her to marry him. That had to mean something, but he didn't want to look at that too hard, not now that it didn't make a difference anyway. And he and Monroe… could a relationship that had begun with his busting into Monroe's house and attacking him on his stairs be considered simple? Actually, now that he thought about it, he'd felt accepted by Monroe fairly quickly after he'd realized how wrong he was about the Blutbad. With the benefit of hindsight, he realized that he'd never pretended with Monroe. Ever.

He also realized he'd been quiet for a little too long. "And you've been here ever since?"

"Now I can't get her to leave," Darren said with a small smile.

"What can I say? There's nothing like hearty weather gear to turn a girl's head."

Nick looked down at his clothing, some of it a little wetter thanks to Meka, and chose to just send a small smile to the front of the car.

Darren said something to Ca'Trena in Inupiat, making her laugh, and Nick wondered if he'd done something funny. He shrugged it off, remembering how many things he'd messed up when he'd started as a Grimm. It seemed so long ago now, but he could still picture Monroe's faces whenever Nick would make an idiotic comment or ask a stupid question. And while he constantly made fun of Nick, he never made Nick feel like the butt of a joke.

Now Nick was used to being in situations where he had no knowledge going in, and he found that it didn't bother him as it might have two years ago. He'd learned to roll with the punches, gather information as he went along, and keep his eyes and ears open.

"You sure you want to head to Ieukpasrugruk's before stopping and talking to Rex at the merc?"

Nick sat back in the seat. "I want to do both and take a look at the areas where they found evidence of a struggle. I'll leave the order to you, since you both know this area and the people I need to talk to." He'd also learned to let the experts take the lead.

M

In the time he'd been imprisoned, Monroe had gathered quite a bit of information. For instance, he knew that the man who had orchestrated this was a Grimm, a particularly crazy one, gathering by the wild look in his eyes and the way he muttered to himself. He'd also figured out that the man had a superior knowledge in science and must be wealthy in order to have a largish dungeon where he could keep someone like Monroe without worrying about discovery. And then there were the guards. Paying humans to help him torture Monroe and the various others who had been in some of the others cells from time to time had to cost a pretty penny as well. Silence could always be bought; collaboration was much more expensive. These men didn't mind getting their hands dirty.

Monroe didn't know if the guards knew he wasn't human. He'd finally deduced that the crazy Grimm was injecting him with something that kept his wolf at bay. In fact, every time he automatically tried to woge, he felt a pain far worse than anything that had been done to him so far.

However, every once in a while, when he suspected the current dose was wearing thin, he found that he could break out the claws. It was painful and couldn't help him escape, so he usually just ignored it.

But now he was thankful that he'd seen the pregnant Fuchsbau just the other day, because he was getting that itch underneath his skin that let him know he was probably going to get another wolf-drugging whammy soon.

Running on instinct rather than any particular plan, he painfully bared his claws and tore the lock off his cage, stumbling to the Fuchsbau's cage.

She was huddled on the floor in the back of the cage and looked up fearfully at the click of the broken lock and the screech of the door.

Her eyes widened as she saw him, and he remembered that he was just as naked as she was. Discarding the thought as useless, he returned his focus to the matters at hand.

He wanted to tell her, "It's okay. I'm here to help you, but we have to go now." But it had been so long since he'd muttered anything besides grunts and screams that his voice came out gravelly and hoarse. Besides, the few times the Grimm had needed to speak to the guards, he used a foreign language, Eastern European, Russian if Monroe had to guess. The Fuchsbau probably didn't even speak English.

For expedience's sake, he used gestures to get his point across. He brought both hands, palms up, toward his chest, and looked both ways to make sure that none of the guards were walking down the hallway. He turned back to find her slowly standing, one hand over her large stomach, the other braced against the back of the cage.

He motioned for her again, and she stepped forward, following him outside of the cage.

This was where it got a little tricky. He could smell snow and a chill in both directions. He knew the left was the way they always took him for his injections and his torture – but he didn't know what they'd face to the right. Briefly he wished his sense of smell had been up to full strength, but he discarded the useless thought and returned to the matter at hand. Taking a breath, he decided on the devil he didn't know and turned right, making sure she was behind him.

Monroe continued to follow the smell of clean and snow and cold as it became stronger until they reached a small room with a door that seemed to lead outside. It was dark out, so Monroe didn't know what was out there, but he figured the Fuchsbau and her baby had more of a chance with the unknown than what she was going to have inside.

Leading her into the smaller room, he lurched over to the wall holding heavy weather gear on hooks. He grabbed some pants, keeping his eyes turned away and ignoring her flinch as he helped her put them on. After a brief pause, she rested a hand on his shoulder for balance as she lifted each leg. The snow pants didn't fit over her belly, so Monroe just let them remain open. He found a pair of shoes that looked close to her size and swallowed a grunt of pain as he got on his knees to slide them open and hook them closed for her. Next was a jacket, and once again her tummy was so large that they couldn't zip it, so he grabbed another jacket and put it on her backwards. He was just lifting the hood over her hair when he heard the alarm sound and realized that they were out of time. After tightening her hood, he shoved a pair of gloves on her hands and worked the door free.

The Fuchsbau didn't move at first, and Monroe gestured for her to go outside. She, in turn, gestured from him to the door, and he realized that she wanted him to come with her. He gave her a small smile and shook his head, because he knew he was where he was supposed to be, where he deserved to be.

He heard the sound of scuffling against the floor and grabbed the Fuchsbau, propelling her out the door before re-securing it and turning to face the four men entering the room, Tasers, nightsticks, and whips in their hands. He couldn't fully woge, but he growled at them, determined to give the Fuchsbau as much lead time as he could.

Maybe, if he got lucky, one of them would lose control and put him out of his misery once and for all.


	3. Chapter 3

As his body bounced around the back of the truck in the darkness, Nick found himself actually thankful for the blankets hiding him. He was just tired enough to be able to fall into a slight doze from time to time, only to be awakened by a harsh jolt when one of the wheels fell into a particularly deep hole. Judging by the feel, they'd left the paved road less than five minutes after they'd started, and they'd had to have been on the road for at least half an hour.

As his mind started to grow fuzzy, he reflected on the past twenty-four hours.

They'd conducted the interviews first, where he wasn't surprised to find that although Monroe had done his best to keep to himself, he couldn't _not_ be Monroe, so pretty much everyone had a story where he'd helped them in some way. A teenager out joyriding in her father's car had gotten a flat tire, and Monroe had just appeared, changed her tire, then disappeared without a word. In one of his forays into the mercantile, he'd helped the shopkeeper put product on a high shelf, again without much discussion.

After the interviews, they'd climbed onto snowmobiles – which were evidently called snow machines in Alaska – and headed out to Monroe's shack, which actually looked slightly more stable in person than in the photographs. Nick couldn't help comparing the stark wooden structure to Monroe's former house with all of the clocks and tchotchkes that Nick had come to equate with the Blutbad. It might've fit the definition of a house – barely – but it definitely wasn't a home.

Darren had gotten a call on a satellite phone he'd somehow stashed away in one of his coat's voluminous pockets as they'd trekked out to the site where they'd determined Monroe had been attacked. As usual, he didn't say much, just grunted out a hello, listened for about a minute, grunted again, and ended the call. "We caught a break. A woman claimed your man rescued her after she'd been kidnapped."

"Is he okay?"

Darren shrugged. "We need to get you over there so you can find out."

Nick paused at that. "Over where?"

And that's when the true trek began. Ca'Trena drove them to nearby – a relative word in Alaska it turned out after the hour-long drive – Kotzebue, where they hopped on different snow machines and followed the water until they reached a boat bobbing beside a small dock hidden along the bank. Darren stepped up to a man, the captain Nick assumed, while Ca'Trena led Nick inside the small cabin.

"Have you ever been scuba diving?" She asked, opening one of a pile of boxes.

"A couple of times in college during spring breaks," he admitted, remembering just how young and carefree he'd been then. It felt like another lifetime.

Ca'Trena nodded. "Good. Get undressed."

"Everything?"

She nodded. "Everything."

Nick didn't have time to think about the fact that he was buck naked in front of a woman whose last name he didn't know, because she was already tossing clothes at him, instructing him on how to put them on, throwing around terms like "dry suit" and "cold water regulator". As she finished helping him dress, instructing him on the equipment, he slowly began to realize that he was being prepped for some sort of arctic cold water dive.

He'd been comfortable just going along for the ride, but this was starting to get serious. He stopped everything and looked at Ca'Trena, waiting until he had her full attention. "I need to know what's happening. Now."

Her eyes flittered around his face for a moment before she nodded. "Wait here." She left the cabin.

Less than a minute later, Darren stepped inside. "Okay. The woman who claims your man rescued her is in Russia, which just happens to be right across the water. Our guy is going to take you over, but you're going to have to hold on and float underwater."

Nick frowned.

"Look," Darren said, "we could go through the process of obtaining the required visas to go into Russia as well as trying to explain your need to venture deep into the parts with absolutely no tourist interest, but it'll only arouse suspicion, and by the time you actually made it to your destination, your man would probably be dead. Do you even have your passport with you?"

Nick couldn't really argue with that. Much. "I don't speak Russian."

"You'll have an English speaking contact waiting for you on the other side," Darren said.

So far all of Renard's contacts had been absolutely reliable, so Nick wasn't about to second-guess them now. "Okay. When do we leave?"

Darren unrolled a piece of paper, pressing it flat against a desk shoved in the corner of the small cabin. He placed a book on the top of the paper and another on the bottom to hold it flat.

Nick moved in for a closer look. "Is this a diagram of the boat?"

Darren nodded, pointing to a small hook underneath the back – the stern – of the boat. "This is where you'll be holding on while you sail across the Strait. Stay quiet and out of sight until you're given the all clear."

"And what's that?"

Darren shrugged as he gathered the boxes and Nick's clothing. "It'll be something obvious. Don't worry."

Nick was entrusting his life to an unknown captain who was going to smuggle him into a communist country while he was underwater in unfamiliar scuba diving gear in arctic conditions. _Yeah,_ he thought wryly, _no need to worry at all._

But it had all gone just as Darren had explained. Nick had gotten into position, mentally adjusting himself to the claustrophobic conditions of the absolute darkness, and allowed the boat to pull him gently across what he'd come to realize was the Bering Strait. He had no sense of time – it could have taken thirty minutes; it could have been two hours – but eventually the boat slowed and then stopped. Nick felt the boat bump gently against what he figured was another dock, but he waited for the mysterious sign. Finally he saw a flash of light flicker on and off in, what he quickly realized, was Morse code. Thankful for the summer in elementary school when he and a neighbor had learned it to send messages to each other, he recognized the all clear and swam to the edge of the boat. Arms reached out for him, pulling him onto the deck.

He was quickly pulled out of his gear, rubbed down so briskly that he wondered if he'd lost a layer of skin, and shoved into what seemed like three layers of clothing before a coat, hat, mask, gloves, and warm boots were piled into his arms. He donned those final items and was pushed onto the back of a snow machine. He'd barely wrapped his arms around the person in front of him before they were off.

Eventually, they'd stopped beside a truck, and he'd been loaded into the back and had piles of blankets tucked around him just before the truck began jostling its way deeper into Russia.

So here he was, muscles aching and sore, butt bruised from the rough terrain, but surprisingly warm and focused. He realized he wasn't sure of what to expect when they finally reached their destination, so he needed to make this time count. Wiggling to make himself more comfortable, Nick closed his eyes, determined to rest while he could.

M

Initially, Monroe had been surprised and quite disappointed when he'd only been beaten for a short amount of time before being thrown into a cage with a functioning lock a few feet down from his original. But as he listened to the commotion, he realized that everyone's focus seemed to be on finding the Fuchsbau. He hoped that she'd been able to get away, but he knew the odds didn't favor a pregnant female who probably had no idea where she was against trained guards. He decided he had done what he could, and he had to let the anxiety go. Of course, he continued to lie there and listen, because really, he had nothing else to do.

Eventually, they came back for him. He wanted to ask if they'd found her, but he and the guards never spoke. In fact, he'd never heard any of the guards speak at all.

They led him to a new room, which piqued his interest slightly. He'd become accustomed to the dungeon with the chains dangling from the ceiling close enough to the wall so they could chain him steady if they didn't want his body swinging as they abused him. And then there was the room with the four large tables where they strapped him down as the Grimm took samples and injected him with things that made Monroe's blood feel like it was on fire.

This new room felt almost cozy by comparison. One end held a large fireplace with flames so high that Monroe could feel the warmth as soon as he shuffled through the door. There wasn't much by way of furniture: a large chair with straps toward the center of the room, a small table holding a few items a few feet away.

"You've caused me so much trouble," a voice sighed, and Monroe saw the Grimm walk around the chair and saunter up to him.

The man was wiry, like Nick, designed to look harmless but whose body harbored a strength that Monroe had seen firsthand. But where Nick's face showed a kindness and strength of character, this Grimm was all sharp angles and hard, crazy eyes. Monroe had recognized the look; they were the eyes of a fanatic. He sported a thin goatee, his hair in a buzz cut. He always wore a buttoned-up grey physician's coat whenever he saw Monroe, and back when he'd first arrived, during one of his more delirious moments, Monroe had wondered what kind of look the man liked to rock during his free time.

Now Monroe's insides clenched whenever he saw the man, smelled the man, or even saw that stupid, stupid grey coat. All that this Grimm was could be narrowed down to one word: pain.

"You owe me, Blutbad," the Grimm said, his accented voice still perfectly even, like always. "You owe me for the inconvenience, for the waste of time, for ruining my research!"

That last word was said with such malice, through clenched teeth, that Monroe hazarded looking up from the floor. He hadn't expected to see the Grimm so angry, face red, eyes wild. While a part of him became very afraid, another part was kind of glad that he'd finally managed to break through the man's iron-clad control.

The Grimm tilted his head toward the large, wooden-backed chair, and the next moment, Monroe found himself seated on it, ankles, thighs, hips, wrists, biceps, upper body, and forehead strapped to the thick wood.

The Grimm walked into Monroe's line of sight, syringe in his hand, control regained. "You weren't supposed to be able to access any part of your wolf, and yet –" He raised his free hand and bent his fingers like claws. "You shouldn't have had the strength to break out of your cage, much less help something else escape." He shoved the needle into Monroe's arm and depressed the plunger.

Monroe was used to the heat that traveled throughout his body, but this was slightly… different. He found himself sweating on the outside, cold on the inside, the fire licking through his veins. His body began to shake, and suddenly the pain was everywhere. He opened his mouth to scream, but something was shoved into it, almost choking him.

"You have to pay," he dimly heard the Grimm say in his ear, "and I'm going to enjoy taking my time."

He should've just run out naked into the snow and let the elements kill him, Monroe thought as his head strained against the strap keeping it still.

M

Nick awoke slowly, first discovering that he'd finally managed to fall into a fitful sleep during the rough ride and finally realizing that the truck was still and silent. He fought out of the blankets and slowly edged around the large crates, on the alert for any kind of danger. He looked out at the snow and wondered, not for the first time and probably not the last, where the hell he was. After he was reasonably sure there wasn't anyone around the vehicle, he slid out of the truckbed, keeping his back against the metal as he slid to the front and felt the cool hood. He reminded himself that a cold engine in this weather didn't really tell him much as he peered into the empty cab.

He stood there for a few minutes, trying to decide on his next course of action, until he realized that he'd been staring directly at what looked like a door. At first glance, it seemed like weeds had grown over a tree, the snow blanketing everything. But upon closer inspection, he saw details that weren't found in nature without a little assistance.

The door opened, and a beautiful dark-haired woman stepped out. She nodded at Nick, jerked her head toward the inside, and disappeared back inside, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Nick trod through the knee-high snow and entered the room, feeling warm tendrils running through the layers of his clothes to reach his body before he even closed the door.

"About time you woke," the woman said, hunched over a large fireplace as she spooned something from a large pot into a bowl. "I was about to come get you." Her voice contained a thick, Eastern European sounding accent, but Nick could understand her clearly. "Take off your coat and put it on the hook by the door. Your shoes go on that carpet underneath."

He followed the woman's directions and turned to find her holding out the bowl. "Stew. It is good and hearty." A smile touched her lips briefly as she said, "I did not make it." She gestured toward a flowered sofa. "Sit and eat."

Nick sat and realized he had no idea how long it'd been since he'd eaten anything. His stomach rumbled loudly, announcing its displeasure, so he dug in, finding that it was indeed very tasty. "I'm Nick," he offered.

"Greta," the woman said, sitting in a matching chair across from the sofa. Leaning forward, her arms resting on her thighs, her hands dangling between her knees, she said quietly. "We do not have much time. You have questions about your man. I will take you to the Fuchsbau as soon as she is ready and will translate for you. However in," she looked at her thick watch, "sixty eight minutes, we will be raiding the location where she last saw your man. We have much to do before that happens."

Nick found himself with many questions, but a door inside the cabin opened, and a tiny woman scuttled out. Her back was hunched over, her gnarled hands holding a large bowl filled with rags, a scarf over her head. She looked up, saw Nick, and smiled, her wrinkles adjusting to the new expression.

Nick smiled back, mentally counting the three teeth he saw. It only took a second longer for her to woge, and he recognized her rat-like features. So, she was a Reinigen. He held up his hands and tried to look friendly. After a few seconds, her startled look became thoughtful as she moved through the living room and into the kitchen. He wanted to say something to her, but he didn't know if Greta knew he was a Grimm, or even if she knew anything about the Wesen world.

"That is Lidiya," Greta told him. "She is taking care of Ylena, the woman who claims to have seen your man."

Nick perked up at that, setting his empty bowl on the coffee table in front of him as he stood. "Can I talk to Ylana?"

Greta spoke rapidly to Lidiya, who answered from the kitchen. "Lidiya says that Ylana just needs one more moment to become decent, and then we can see her."

Nick looked back at the door Lidiya had closed moments before. "She's actually here?" He couldn't believe he didn't have to don more winter gear and maybe hide on top of a big rig to get to her.

Greta gave one of her faint smiles and stood, calling out something in Russian.

A woman's voice responded from behind the closed door.

Lidiya scuttled through the living room and slipped into the room, holding up one finger to Nick, who sighed and sat back down. "You said you're raiding the place where they're holding Monroe. Why?"

"We have been investigating this man for his crimes, but until now, we have never gotten proof. No one who enters his land –" she stopped and stared at him a moment.

"No one who enters has ever left alive," Nick said.

She nodded, her eyes a little sad. "Until Ylana."

Fear washed over him for a moment, but he brushed it aside. Monroe was still alive. He knew it. And hopefully this same time tomorrow, Nick would have him safely hidden in some sort of transport ready to be smuggled home.

Lidiya's voice came through the door, and Greta tilted her head toward the room.

Nick stood, absently wiping sweaty hands on his thighs before opening the door. The room was filled with soft colors, the bed and curtains all gentle purples and pinks. The only three items in the room – a dresser, a large bed, and a chair – filled up the room without making it feel too crowded.

Nick took all of this in in seconds before focusing on the Fuchsbau lying in the bed, sleeping baby cradled in her arms. He'd always found the Fuchsbau one of the prettier Wesen he'd encountered, and Ylena – while not as pretty as Rosalee – was still quite fetching in the second she woged. She didn't seem surprised he was a Grimm, so he supposed that was the reason Lidiya had rushed back inside a few seconds earlier.

Lidiya stood by the dresser, using the top to store her supplies as she mixed some sort of concoction, and Greta pressed Nick into the chair beside the bed. He smiled at the Fuchsbau, who tentatively smiled back at him. "Ylena, I'm Nick, and I'm looking for a very good friend of mine. You said that someone – a man – helped rescued you from where you were being held, and I'm hoping he's the same man I'm trying to find."

Ylana was nodding even before Greta finished translating. Nick had decided that it was probably Russian, given where he'd been told he'd been heading.

"He was the only other person I saw in the cages," Greta translated.

"What did he look like?"

"Tall, hairy. He was a Blutbad, but he still helped me. He got me out of the cage and led me to the door. Then he helped me put on warm clothes, even boots." She chuckled. "My belly was too big for the coat to close, so he put one on me the right way and one on the other way so I was covered." Her smile disappeared. "I wanted him to come with me, but he refused."

"Did you only see him as a man?"

"Mostly. Only his arms…" the English seemed to fail Greta, but Nick had understood enough.

"Let me show you a picture." He automatically reached in his back pocket before realizing that he'd left his wallet in his other pants. "I've lost my wallet."

"Oh." Greta unbuttoned one of the pockets in her flannel shirt and pulled out Nick's wallet.

Nick refused to be surprised. "Thanks," he said, taking it and thumbing through before stopping on a picture of Monroe. He'd taken it out so many times over the years, staring at it before returning it to the plastic sheath, that the corners were worn and ragged. He kept a second hard copy of the picture at his office after a particularly fierce Schakal had thrown him against a building and shattered his phone – the phone he hadn't bothered to back up. He pulled out the picture and handed it to Ylena. "Is this the man?"

Ylana didn't need a translation as she stared at the picture. She gave him a large smile and nodded. "He has much longer hair and big bushy beard, but that is him."

Nick took a deep breath. "Was he – did he –" He knew what he wanted to ask, but no one being held captive was going to look okay.

Ylana's hand grasped his wrist, forcing his gaze back to hers. She said something softly, and Nick turned to Greta.

"She said that he is alive. That is all that matters."

Nick nodded. She was absolutely right.

A few minutes later, after having a few more words with the new mother and being handed a package of food bundled in a handkerchief shoved into his hands by Lidiya, Greta and Nick were back in the truck – with Nick in the passenger seat this time – pulling away from the house.

"How much time do we have?"

Greta looked at her watch. "Forty one minutes. Do not worry. We are not going far."

Less than five minutes later, Greta pulled over, and Nick helped stretch a camouflage tarp over the truck. Another three minutes of trekking through the woods, they came upon another house hidden even better than Lidiya's. Greta simply opened the door, and they strode through, finding a group of men all dressed in white snow gear, huddled over a table, the only furniture in the room. The men looked up briefly before one spoke in Russian, and they returned their attention to the map on the table.

Greta answered, pulling off her coat and hat, and Nick did the same. Once again, they used the hangers by the door, and Nick followed Greta into the next room. This one was also filled with people, mostly men, all outfitting themselves for a war.

Greta rooted through some boxes before she found what she needed. Tossing Nick a thick shirt, pair of socks, and cargo pants, all white, she said, "get dressed first. Then we talk."

Everyone else seemed comfortable changing in the room, so Nick followed suit and was quickly dressed and following a similarly clad Greta back into the main room. This time, only two of the men remained.

Greta walked up to the table talking, gesturing toward Nick. Both men's eyes flickered toward him and then back to Greta.

The tallest, a man with grey hair and sharp eyes – obviously the leader – returned his attention to Nick and pointed at the table. "This is a map of the castle," he said in heavily accented English.

Nick moved closer and began to listen to the plans.

In the end, it actually wasn't that complicated. One team was going to come straight through the front, another from the roof, another from the back, with the fourth team using a boat to sail right inside the structure. They had already marked the locations of the known booby traps and allotted for the estimated time required to disable or bypass each one. They'd allocated forty-five minutes from infiltration to extraction, and Nick needed to be at the extraction point on time or make his way as best he could.

Nick was going to tag along with the group traveling by boat, since the cells seemed to be located closest to that entry point. The leader made Nick well aware that their only mission was to get their mark, preferably alive, and take down this castle. Nick was responsible for himself and anyone else he wanted to rescue from the castle. They were letting him tag along, but they weren't going to babysit him.

And that was fine with Nick, because all he wanted was Monroe. He did like the idea of hurting the man responsible for kidnapping Monroe, but as long as he got Monroe out there alive, he'd deal with the rest later.

With a final nod, the leader looked at Nick and Greta. "We depart in five minutes."

Nick turned to Greta. "Did they rescue Ylena?"

She nodded. "The castle has been under observation for some time. They saw their chance to extract her without… hindering the mission. She also helped provide us with additional information."

"I don't suppose there are any extra weapons lying around."

Grinning, Greta turned toward the other door, opening it to reveal rows of boots and an arsenal. "Take whatever you want."

He armed himself, keeping a curious eye on Greta's choices. "How is it that we were able to just walk in here without being stopped once?"

Greta grinned, this time showing her teeth. "They knew who we were before we even got out of the truck. They had five or six different opportunities to kill us before we walked through the door."

Of course they did, Nick thought, unsurprised, as he shoved a sheathed knife down each boot. He noticed one of the men hungrily eyeballing the food Lidiya had given him. After a moment's consideration, he held the bundle out to the man. After a conversation filled with gestures and over-emphasized facial expressions, he handed it over, shrugging when he saw Greta looking at him. He was never hungry before an op and didn't want to waste the food.

Fifteen minutes later, Nick and Greta were crouched in the second of two boats silently being rowed toward the castle. Each boat was covered by a tarp, the oars camouflaged as well.

There was something about the energy created before a bust – or a military-style op, evidently – that Nick loved. He realized that he'd missed the sense of anticipation, the accelerated heartbeat, the heightened awareness. He felt it more often now that he was a Grimm, but it hadn't really been the same since Monroe had left and he'd quit the force. But now that he was so close to getting Monroe back, Nick welcomed the familiar focus.

Because everyone looked the same underneath white balaclavas and helmets, Nick hadn't even been sure Greta had been with him until she'd taken his arm and led him to the second boat.

Just before they boarded, Nick turned to her and asked the question that had been on his mind since the quick debriefing. "I know what their plans are, and I'm only concerned with Monroe. What's your mission?"

That flittered smile reappeared a moment before she said, "Do not worry. I will be there if you need me."

M

Monroe hung by his arms, wondering how he was still alive and hoping that it wouldn't last much longer. Every time he succumbed to unconsciousness, he was awakened, first by cold water, then by electrical shock when the water stopped making an impact, he supposed. He watched emotionlessly as his blood stained the carpet underneath him.

"I knew you were hearty; that's one of the reasons why I kept you alive," the Grimm said, cleaning off his protective glasses yet again. "I got tired of having to start from scratch all the time. But I had no idea that you'd last this long."

Monroe wanted to say, "you and me both, buddy," but he couldn't even hold up his head, and the one eye still open had decided to stop focusing a little while earlier.

Absently he heard a door open, the Grimm move away, quiet murmurs, and the door close again.

"I have a matter that needs my attention. We'll pick this up tomorrow, if you last the night."

Monroe dropped to the floor when the chains were released, but he knew that the guards would be waiting a long time if they expected him to return to his cage under his own power. Even if his finger and toenails hadn't been ripped out, his muscles wouldn't take any of the commands his exhausted mind tried to send their way.

He knew he was a disgusting mess and felt a bit of pleasure at the fact that the guards were going to have to actually touch him to return him back to his cell. Eventually, they did just that, slinging their rifles over their shoulders, each guard taking a limb. They weren't very gentle, but it hadn't felt any worse than what he'd just gone through. He just zoned out until he felt himself swinging from side to side and then flying as they let go and his body fell into the cell with a hard thud. The pain of hitting the floor ended up being just too much, and as he found himself slipping under, he hoped that this was for the last time.

He awoke to a gentle hand on his cheek, opening his one good eye to find a concerned Nick staring at him. He wasn't surprised; whenever he needed something to keep him going, he conjured up DreamNick. Not the angry Nick that he'd last seen but the Nick who'd been his best friend, the one who didn't hate him. He smiled faintly, glad that his last thought was of the one who meant the most to him in life.


	4. Chapter 4

"I told you that he's hard to get to know," Rosalee reminded him as she licked her vanilla ice cream cone.

"I didn't know you meant in the biblical sense," Nick complained, slumped in a chair across the table. "I thought you meant talking about wetting the bed when he was eight or why he thinks he's not good with people."

Rosalee chuckled. "We didn't date for very long, so we never even got past kissing." She threw him an arch look. "The fact that he was all over you on your first date probably says something."

"What're we talking about?" Hank slid into the chair beside Rosalee, whipped cream clinging precariously on top of two scoops of chocolate ice cream on his cone.

"Nick and Monroe's dinner," Rosalee said, eyeballing Hank's creation. "How did you get them to do that?"

Nick tuned out Hank's attempt at explaining – to a girl he liked – how he flirted with the girl behind the counter every time he came into the store. Instead he chose to go over yet again the night before.

He'd remained on the sofa after Monroe's abrupt departure, totally confused. He knew he hadn't imagined that Monroe had been enjoying it at the time, but as he thought back, Nick realized that Monroe had repeatedly voiced objections, words that Nick had continuously disregarded. Horrified that he'd somehow forced himself on Monroe, he'd called Juliette.

"Do you know what time it is?" Juliette asked, having to shout over the noise in the background.

"It's Friday night, and you're at a party," Nick shot back. "Is Rosalee there?"

"Wait – isn't this your dinner date night with Monroe?"

"I'll tell you about it later," Nick promised, "but right now, I really need to talk to Rosalee."

"She's back at the apartment studying. Let me give you her number."

Nick'd absently thanked his ex and called Rosalee, who promised to meet him the next afternoon so they could sit down and talk about it.

Of course, Hank had heard about the meeting and invited himself along. Nick didn't delude himself that Hank was worried about him. Sure, they were friends, but they were also guys; Hank's appearance was more for Rosalee than it was for Nick.

"Nick!" Rosalee said, her tone making it clear that it hadn't been the first time she'd called it.

"Sorry," Nick offered.

She smiled at him. "So I called Monroe to get his take on things – "

"I thought he didn't have a phone," Nick said.

"He has a house phone, an old-school one with the receiver attached to the phone with a cord."

"Where did he find one of those?" Hank asked.

Rosalee shrugged. "No idea. Anyway, he wasn't very forthcoming. He said that he knew he shouldn't have tempted himself that way."

Nick sat up a little straighter. If he'd been tempted, then maybe Nick hadn't forced himself on Monroe after all.

"So Nick was a temptation," Hank said, mulling it over. "That's good, right?"

"Who knows with Monroe," Rosalee said. "He doesn't feel like he deserves good things."

"Like maybe he did something terrible when he was young and now feels like he has pay penance?"

"I have no idea," Rosalee said, shrugging. "He never really talked about his past with me."

Nick got a thought. "He and Hap grew up together, right?"

"You planning on pumping Hap for information?" Rosalee hazarded a guess.

"Have any better ideas?" Nick asked.

She shrugged. "Make sure you have plenty of beer."

"Hey, I know what this is!" Hap said suddenly, lowering his beer.

"You do?" Hank asked warily.

With Hank and Wu's help, Nick had come up with a pretty simple plan to corner Hap. Late Friday night, he and Wu had 'accidentally' run into Hap (thanks to some intel from Rosalee and Juliette) and then proceeded to suddenly get the idea to invite him to their place that Saturday under the guise of Nick's first attempt at Hap's Super Nachos. They added a bit about the beer and a football game, and Hap was in. To be honest, Hap'd pretty much been dancing around excitedly as soon as they'd mentioned the food.

"You're trying to figure out Monroe's recipe for the nachos!"

Exchanging a quick glance with Hank, Nick walked to the kitchen and came out with a sheet of paper. "Monroe wrote it down for me, so I don't think it's a state secret."

"Oh," Hap said, sitting back on the sofa. "I guess that's all right then."

"Did I miss the food?" Wu asked, walking in and tossing his backpack on the floor by the door.

"We were waiting for you, actually," Nick said, returning to the kitchen. He sat Monroe's instructions on the counter next to the large platter Wu's mom had donated once she'd heard about Nick's cooking attempt.

As he built the dish, Nick thought back to Wednesday, when he had managed to finagle Monroe's address from Rosalee and waited almost an hour for Monroe to come home – his last effort before hunting down Hap.

All Nick knew about that part of town was that it was considered the poorer section, and he understood why as he drove past houses with sagging porches and peeling paint. The front lawns had patches of dead grass, a few with rusty cars resting on cinder blocks.

But that wasn't all he noticed. He spotted gardens running along the side yards and peeking from the backyards, bicycles – while not shiny and new, still obviously used – leaning against the front stairs. The area might be poor, but the people who lived there still seemed to have a sense of pride.

He'd almost driven past Monroe's house, but a glint off stained glass in a door caught his attention, and he saw the house number – the "7" hanging upside down to resemble an "L" – faded but still visible on the front of the house. He pulled into the drive, right behind Monroe's car, a rare spot of color in the middle of the dingy neighborhood.

After he'd parked and knocked, he took a closer look at the small piece stained glass, wondering about the significance of the – was that a wolf?

Monroe opened the door, his eyes traveling from Nick's feet to his face. So many emotions passed quickly over his face that Nick only managed to catch a few, surprise and panic but most importantly, pleasure among them.

"I brought your stuff back," he said, gesturing toward the backpack slung over his shoulder. "I really wanted to keep those knives, but Hank's making me return them."

Monroe's hand twitched a little. "Thanks. I'm sorry I ran ou-"

"No," Nick said, hand out in an aborted attempt to touch. "I'm sorry. I pushed, and I made you uncomfortable."

A small smile flittered across Monroe's face. "I'm a grown man; I can handle a little pressure."

"But I don't want you to feel pressured by me."

Monroe stepped forward, then stopped. "I just –" He took a deep breath. "The pressure – " He stopped again, clearly searching for the right words.

A movement out of the corner of his eye caught Nick's attention, and he turned his head just in time to see the curtains in the house next door settle. "Why don't we take this inside? I'm sure your neighbors are nice, but I'm guessing that they already know more about your business than you'd like."

Another hesitation before Monroe's shoulders slumped, and he sighed. "Okay." He pulled open the door but held out his arm, blocking Nick's entrance. "The place isn't really set up for visitors. I mean, Hap and I don't need much, so…"

"Monroe," Nick said gently, "I don't care about the house."

"Hmm," Monroe said, obviously unconvinced, but he dropped his arm.

Nick walked inside and tried not to show his surprise. He'd thought his apartment was shabby, but Monroe's house was a hovel.

Just like the neighborhood, the area was well kempt; it just showed signs of poverty. The inside of the house was clean, but the furnishings – which were a sofa, a chair, and a lamp without a lampshade in the living room – looked faded, as if they'd been outside in the sun for quite a while before being dragged inside.

Choosing to focus on Monroe, Nick turned to find the man chewing on his lip, staring at the sofa. He took Monroe's wrist, making sure to get the other man's attention. "I meant what I said. Obviously, I'm interested in you, but I don't want to force myself on you."

"I think it was fairly obvious that I was as much into what we were doing as you were," Monroe said, wry tone to his voice.

"Yeah, but you kept saying that we shouldn't have been doing it. I need to learn to listen more and not shove you into things."

Monroe sighed, stared at the ground for a moment. "I like you, like a lot, but I'm not good for you."

"Is it the age difference? Because you aren't really that much older than I am –"

"No, that doesn't matter."

"Is it because you're a senior and I'm a junior? I mean, I know it's kind of assuming stuff, but if we're still together after you graduate – "

Monroe huffed out a surprised laugh. "That's… well, that's definitely putting the cart before the horse, but not what I – "

"It can't be the rivalry." Monroe gave him a blank look, so Nick continued. "Between GN – " he pointed a hand toward Monroe " – and JT." He turned the hand and pointed it toward his chest.

"Of course not!"

"Then what is it?" Nick asked, sounding more plaintive than he would've liked. But he hated not being able to put the pieces together, especially when as far as he could tell, he and Monroe could be pretty awesome together.

"It's me, okay? For some reason, you think that I'm this good person, but I'm really not. I mean, I try, and some days I think that maybe… but it doesn't change who I am or what I've done."

Nick thought a second. "So these bad things you've done in the past. Are you still doing them now?"

Monroe looked horrified. "Hell no!"

Nick shrugged. "Okay then."

Monroe looked confused. It was adorable. _He_ was adorable. "So, um, we're good?"

Nick smiled at him. "Absolutely. We've established that for some reason you think you deserve to be punished for the past and that it doesn't matter to me."

Monroe blinked. "You don't under – "

"What I understand is what I know. I know who you are _now_ , that you are a good person _now_. I know that you've spent the last three years here helping people, cooking for them, and taking care of Hap, which is probably a challenge all by itself."

Monroe smiled faintly. "Hap's… an adventure."

"So, okay then."

The smile faded. "Okay." Monroe's shoulders dropped slightly.

"Want to have dinner Friday night?"

"What?"

"Dinner. Friday. My treat."

"But you heard what I said about – "

" – and you heard what I said. If you haven't figured it out yet, I'm pretty determined."

Monroe remained silent for a few seconds as he seemed to absorb the information. "So, once again, it doesn't matter what I say?"

Nick sighed. "Shit. I came to apologize for forcing myself on you, and I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

Monroe shrugged.

Shit. Shit. Shit. He was just making things worse. "Look. I'm sorry." He pulled the backpack off his shoulder and leaned it against the sofa. "Here's your stuff. I won't force myself on you anymore."

"Nick –"

For the first time since they'd met, Nick didn't want to look Monroe in the eyes as he slipped past and walked out the door.

Hank and Wu had found him a few hours and several beers later bellied up at the Rat's bar, despondently fiddling with the tab on the can in front of him.

"So I'm guessing the visit didn't go well," Hank said, motioning for two more beers from the bartender as he and Wu sat on either side of Nick.

"I pushed too hard," Nick confessed. He'd always thought of his single-mindedness as a positive, his way of mowing over stumbling blocks; he wasn't sure when it'd morphed into a need to impose his will over others. He looked between his friends. "Do I force my ideas on you guys?"

"You're strong-willed," Wu said, "but Hank and I can hold our own if it's something important."

"Yeah," Hank agreed. "If he can't handle it, maybe Monroe isn't the right fit for you."

"Funny, he didn't seem like someone who'd have a problem saying no to you," Wu said, taking the beer but ignoring the bartender until Hank sighed and handed the man some money.

"Right?" Nick said. "It didn't feel like I was forcing him into something with me as much as pushing him to do something he wanted but didn't think he deserved. He said he liked me a lot."

"Wow," Hank took a pull from his beer. "I didn't expect you to quit so easily."

Nick sighed. "Just because he likes me doesn't mean that he necessarily wants to be in a relationship with me."

"What else did he say?" Wu asked.

"That he wasn't good for me, that he'd done bad things in the past."

"So it's not like he doesn't want a relationship with you," Wu started.

"It's that he doesn't think he's worthy of it or something," Hank finished. He grinned at Nick. "That man I met the other night at Rosie's was besotted."

Nick couldn't stop his small smile. "Besotted?"

Wu snorted. "If you're confused about what that looks like, just check Hank out when Rosalee walks into a room."

Nick chuckled at Hank's weak protest.

They sat in silence, drinking their beers, until Wu finally said, "So… Hap?"

Nick looked at Hank, who shrugged. "Hap."

So here they were, Hap in their apartment for beer and the nachos that Nick was bringing to the coffee table.

"These look fantastic!" Hank grabbed the small stack of paper plates and handed them to the others before reaching in for a handful. "This is pretty… messy," he said as he dripped the food to his plate.

"Yeah," Nick admitted, grabbing the instructions and rereading each step.

"Still good, though," Hap said around a mouthful of food.

"Hmm," Wu nodded, chewing vigorously.

Nick stared at the platter. "It is too liquidy." He pointed to the bottom, where there was obviously a pool of… something. "There's too much water or juice at the bottom."

Hap took a swipe at the liquid with his finger. "Tastes like meat. Oh, hey! I remember this one time, when I was so hungry I couldn't wait and went in to grab some chips, Monroe was doing this thing, said he was draining the beans? Draining the meat?" He looked at Wu. "Can you drain meat?"

Wu shrugged and took another large bite.

"It's still good," Hank said. "Can you grab more plates?" Hank asked. "We'll put them under these to shore them up a little." He held out his messy hands.

Nick handed out more paper plates and slid some of the nachos onto his own before sitting on the desk chair he'd dragged across from the three men on the sofa.

"It must be pretty cool living with a guy who cooks like this," Wu said.

"Yeah, Monroe's awesome. He's a little too serious, you know? He always worries about stuff."

"You two were friends before college, right?" Hank asked.

"Yeah, we grew up together."

"And you both end up at the same college. That's a pretty big coincidence." Wu grabbed a napkin from the pile Nick had put on the edge of the coffee table and wiped around his mouth. "Nick, this is the best thing I've eaten since Rosalee and Juliette's party."

"I wasn't even planning on going to college. I mean, I like the parties and everything," Hap said, leaning toward Wu like he was imparting a big secret. "I'm not really all that smart."

"Join the club," Wu said blithely.

Nick briefly caught Hank's eyes. Wu frequently acted like he was at JT for the parties, but only a few people knew that the reason he was able to party so much was because he was brilliant. Only Nick and Hank knew that he'd been offered full rides to quite a few established colleges and universities but decided on JT because he wanted to remain close to his family.

"Monroe's like, really smart, but he said that he wasn't gonna leave me behind, that we had to get out of there or we never would."

Hap settled into a melancholy silence that made Nick uncomfortable. "Another beer?"

Hap brightened. "That'd be awesome!"

Nick ended up having a fun time hanging out with Hap and his roommates. By unspoken consent, they agreed to stop pumping Hap for information and just chill for the night. They pulled Wu's television out of his room and watched a college football game while they finished the nachos. Wu's mom had made them a strawberry pie, which they simply cut into four large pieces and finished in record time.

During one of the commercials, Hap pulled out his phone and started texting. "I gotta check in with Monroe."

"I thought he didn't have a cell phone," Wu said, plunking down fresh beers in front of all of them.

"He's pretty old school. He's meeting with Bud, this guy who works with him at the garden, and I have Bud's number."

"It's Saturday night, and he's working?" Wu's incredulous voice made Nick laugh.

"Contrary to what you think, partying on Saturdays isn't a college requirement," Nick said, dodging the stray chip Wu tossed his direction.

"Yeah, Monroe doesn't really party. He likes being in control."

"He keeps pretty close tabs?" Hank asked.

Hap shrugged a shoulder, his fingers never pausing. "He worries about me. He's been looking out for me since forever."

Nick felt a warmth in his chest. Monroe might think of himself as this bad guy, but everything he did proved the exact opposite. "You wanna crash here tonight? The sofa's pretty comfortable." It had to be more comfortable than that terrible sofa in Hap and Monroe's house.

"Dude, that'd be excellent!" Hap's fingers started moving again.

A few commercials later, Hap's phone buzzed, and he looked at the message. "Shit. I forgot that I promised I'd help Monroe with this thing tomorrow morning." He looked up. "He's gonna pick me up in a couple of hours."

Nick made the appropriate disappointed face, wondering if being happy about seeing Monroe again made him a bad person.

Later that evening, Nick stood next to Hap outside of Nick's apartment building, waiting for Monroe.

"You don't have to hang out here with me," Hap said.

"It's no problem," Nick said, zipping up his jacket before shoving his hands into his jeans pockets.

Hap shot him a sly smile. "Wanna say hi to Monroe, huh?"

"He'll kill me if he drives up and you aren't here," Nick said, which was partially true. They'd been standing there for less than ten minutes, and three different groups of people had invited Hap to come party with them. Nick was fairly certain that Hap would've agreed to each and every one of them if Nick hadn't been standing right beside him. He looked over at Hap, dressed in jeans, short sleeved t-shirt, and absolutely no jacket at all and shook his head. "How're you not freezing your ass off right now?"

"Monroe and I run a little hotter than – " he shot Nick another glance " – most people."

Nick noticed the pause but was distracted when he saw Monroe's car. "Here he is."

Monroe pulled up, surprising Nick by turning off his engine and getting out.

Hap paused with the passenger side door open. "Monroe?"

Monroe didn't spare Hap a glance as he rounded the front of the car and headed toward Nick. "Get in the car. I'll be right back."

Nick wasn't used to seeing such an intent look on Monroe's face – especially not centered on him – a determination and focus that alternately excited and scared him a little. He found himself backing up slowly. "Hey?" he said, his voice going up a little at the end.

Monroe remained silent, taking Nick's arm and opening up the apartment building door, pushing Nick inside and against the wall just inside.

Nick stilled, wondering if this were what prey felt like when being cornered by a predator.

"Are you sure about this?"

Nick felt a little spark of hope but didn't want to assume anything. "About what exactly?"

"You. Me. This."

"Absolutely," Nick said without hesitation.

One step had Monroe's body pressing Nick's into the wall as Monroe kissed Nick.

But this wasn't any kiss. This was Monroe staking a claim, setting Nick's body on fire.

It could have lasted thirty seconds or thirty minutes. Nick only knew he was wrecked when Monroe pulled away.

"I'll call you," Monroe promised before turning away, walking through the door, getting back into the car, and driving away.

As he slid to the floor, Nick felt absurdly pleased that Monroe had been just as out of breath as he was.


	5. Chapter 5

Nick sat in the wooden chair, thankful for the floral cushion on the seat. He rubbed his eyes, wondering absently what time it was, what day it was. It didn't really matter, and his few words in Russian didn't extend far enough for him to ask Lidiya – or understand her answer.

Monroe had been in and out of consciousness since they'd pulled up in front of Lidiya's house. The woman hadn't seemed surprised, simply held open the door and gestured toward the now-unoccupied bedroom that had previously housed Ylena. Monroe's one unswollen eye had opened, rolled around a bit, and then closed. Nick had hoped he would stay unconscious until they had him settled, but leave it to the Blutbad to make everything more complicated. They hadn't even gotten him to the door before he started thrashing about. Because of his size, he was already a challenge. Greta had one leg, Lidiya had the other, and Nick held Monroe underneath his armpits as they struggled through the small house. By the time they'd gotten him in the bed, all of them were sweating and breathing heavily.

Lidiya had tried to push them out of the room, but Nick refused to go at first. He didn't realize until he'd been shoved out the door and pushed back onto the sofa in the living room that he was exhausted. Whatever fumes he'd had left had been used just to get Monroe into that damn bed.

Greta pushed a cup of dark liquid into his shaking hands, and he took a sip. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but it was warm and sweet and went down easy. "This is good," he muttered to her once he'd finished most of it. He wanted to look at her and thank her for the drink, but he couldn't seem to raise his head.

"Finish." Greta's hand came into view as she gently tilted the cup, forcing him to drain the contents before she took it from him and put it on the coffee table. She pushed him until he fell sideways and picked up his feet one at a time, unlacing the boots and taking them off before laying them on the sofa.

"I need to… Monroe," he said faintly, but his eyelids felt so heavy.

"Sleep."

Suddenly he wanted to tell her so many things, things like _thank you for everything you've done_ and _you're such a badass that I'd totally make a pass at you if I weren't focused on Monroe_ and _don't think I don't know that you spiked my tea._

He shot up on the sofa, looking around him wildly. The flames in the fireplace were low, leaving most of the room in shadow, but he could tell that he was alone in the room. He tried to figure out what had awakened him when he heard a low growl and ran into the bedroom to find poor Lidiya grabbing at Monroe's waving arms.

"Monroe!" Nick ran to the free side of the bed, grabbing Monroe's wrists. He kept talking to the Blutbad, first having to raise his voice over the snarls and growls but growing quieter as Monroe slowly began to calm. He continued to repeat himself, telling Monroe that it was okay, that he was safe now, until Monroe finally lay still. Eventually, Nick grew silent, but he kept his hands planted firmly on Monroe's wrists.

After a few minutes, Monroe opened his good eye. Nick finally let go and walked around so Monroe could see him without having to crane his neck. He plopped into the chair but leaned forward. "You're safe now."

Monroe blinked, looked at him, blinked again. "You're not… you're not real." His voice was so quiet and raspy that Nick had to listen carefully.

"I'm really here." Nick reached forward, pressing a hand gently over Monroe's bruised chest.

"But you hate me." The look on Monroe's face, an acceptance mixed with pain and confusion, tore at Nick's heart.

"I never hated you."

Monroe snorted.

Nick couldn't help the small smile at the familiar sound. "I was angry for a moment, but I shouldn't have directed it at you. You were just the only one there. It wasn't fair."

"It _was_ my fault," Monroe said, shiftng a bit and hissing, his eyes closing.

"Let's get you a little better first," Nick suggested, "then we'll talk more."

Monroe's eye started to close, but he forced it open again. "You'll be here?"

"Promise," Nick said, watching Monroe drop his guard and fall back asleep.

When they'd laid him on the bed, they'd had to come up with a way to keep him on his side since both his back and front were bruised and bleeding. They'd propped him with pillows, most of which he'd squashed as he'd been thrashing about. Lidiya, who'd stepped aside after Nick's arrival, had mixed some sort of poultice, once again using the top of the dresser as her counter. Through gestures and just plain guesswork, Nick was able to help her smear the foul-smelling stuff over the heavily bruised muscles in Monroe's lower back and additional bruising over his body. She had a totally different – yet equally foul smelling – concoction for the many varied needle marks they found all over Monroe's body. They dabbed generous amounts of it over each of his fingerbeds and toebeds, wrapping a small cloths over each one. The third cream, which actually didn't smell that bad – although by the time they'd started to use it, Nick didn't know if it would have seemed more pleasant without the comparison of the other two medicines – was used for the whip marks, cuts, and the skin that was rubbed raw.

They eventually finished, Monroe now lying on his other side. Nick moved the chair to the other side of the bed and sat, making himself comfortable for a long wait.

Lidiya picked up his arm and pulled him toward the other room, but he pointed to Monroe and shook his head. She let go, using both hands to mime eating, and grabbed his arm again. Nick was about ready to resist again when his stomach growled loudly, eliciting a smirk from Lidiya that had Nick sighing and following her out of the room.

She shooed him toward the sofa as she headed for the fireplace. Nick took the time to fold up the blanket he'd knocked to the floor on his way to the bedroom and rest it on the arm of the couch, sitting down just as Lidiya stood in front of him with a large bowl of stew. Giving her an apologetic smile when his stomach grumbled again, he said, "spaceebah" as he took the bowl.

He wasn't sure if it were the hunger talking, but it was the best stew he'd ever tasted. "If that's how good you are cooking over a fireplace, I can't imagine how fantastic you'd be with an actual stove," Nick said around a mouthful of food.

Lidiya smiled, even though it was obvious she had no idea what he was saying. He smiled back and focused on his food.

He was scraping the last of the stew from the side of the bowl with a large piece of bread when the door opened. Nick's sudden tension eased when he recognized Greta underneath the winter gear.

"How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thanks. But don't think I'll forget about your drugging my tea."

She shrugged, pulling off her coat and hanging it up by the door. "You need to keep up your strength to help your man heal."

"Speaking of which, how long can we stay here?"

Greta smiled her thanks at Lidiya, who handed her a large mug, before saying, "In six days, we will smuggle you both back into Alaska."

"Is our being here dangerous for Lidiya?" As much as he appreciated her help, Nick didn't want to cause the woman trouble.

Greta nodded. "We will make sure she remains safe. I will return in a few days. Do you need anything before I depart?"

Nick had been mulling over a few things that had perhaps been lurking at the back of his mind, waiting until he'd found Monroe alive. "I need to contact a friend back home. Can you help with that?"

M

Monroe opened his eyes, confused about pretty much everything. He'd had strange dreams, even stranger than when he'd first been captured. These dreams weren't filled with accusatory eyes and harsh words and didn't contain additional pain. In these, he was warm and dry, any pain soothed. He felt comforting hands on his forehead instead of the stinging whips against his back. Instead of needles being shoved into his arm and tainted meat thrown into his cage, he was covered in soft blankets and handfed warm, flavorful broth. "Maybe I'm dead," he said, his throat still raw.

"I should hope not, considering how hard we've worked to keep you alive." Nick walked into view, sitting down on a chair beside Monroe's bed.

Looking into Nick's eyes, Monroe didn't see any anger or judgment. Dream then, he decided.

"I'm real," Nick said, correcting Monroe's silent deduction.

"No –" Monroe started.

Nick pressed a hand against Monroe's. "I'm really here. I'm not a dream, and I don't hate you."

Monroe shut his mouth, trying to figure out what was going on.

"We've had that conversation a few times in the last couple of days," Nick said, smiling faintly.

"The last couple of days?" Monroe tried to look around, but all he could see from his side was a dresser wedged into the corner. "Where are we?"

"Somewhere in Russia." Nick shrugged. "Damned if I know where exactly."

"Whose house?"

"A Reinigen healer named Lidiya. She doesn't speak English, is as old as the hills, and has limitless patience."

Monroe felt his eyes falling shut but forced them open. He had so many questions and wasn't ready to fall back asleep yet.

Nick gave him a knowing look. "You need your rest."

"Not yet." Monroe shifted slightly, feeling aches and twinges all over his body.

Nick rose, adjusting pillows and helping Monroe lie gently on his back. "You probably should stay on your side until your back heals a little more."

"It's okay." Monroe'd had enough injuries in his life to know how careful he had to be with himself. He stared up at the ceiling, realizing that his depth perception was better than before. He reached up, momentarily distracted by the bandages on each of his fingertips, before touching the eye that had been swollen closed the last he remembered. "Hey, it's back!"

"Was it planning on going somewhere?"

Monroe had missed Nick's gentle sarcasm. "I thought maybe the bad Grimm had blinded me." He saw Nick's small smile disappear. "But, I mean, he didn't, because look. I can see with both eyes." He opened them wide.

Nick rolled his own eyes and sat back in the chair. He closed them for a moment with a sigh, and Monroe could see the dark circles underneath his eyes, even more pronounced due to his unhealthy pallor.

"You don't look so good. Maybe you should get some sleep?"

Nick huffed a laugh, rubbing his hands over his face. It wasn't a happy sound, and Monroe braced himself. "For the past two years, every time I try to sleep, I see your face."

Monroe blinked. He'd expected anger and blame, wouldn't have been that surprised if Nick had come at him physically. But this...

Nick eyes stared at the floor, so he didn't seem to notice. "Every time I close my eyes, I see the way you looked that night, when I said what I did."

"Nick…"

"No, Monroe." Nick leaned forward, eyes so intense that Monroe couldn't look away no matter how much he wanted to do it. "I blamed you for maybe five seconds, and that's only because you were a convenient target. It wasn't fair –"

"It was my fault!" Monroe tried to push himself upright, but his body's protests and the pain in his hands overruled him.

"No it wasn't!" Nick stood forcefully, almost upending the chair, and began pacing. "You just left! You didn't give me a chance to apologize!"

Monroe's eyes tracked Nick as the Grimm paced the short distance at the foot of the bed. Not for the first time, he was at a loss. He'd only make Nick angrier if he said that he wasn't the one who was owed the apology. "I don't know what you want from me, here."

Nick stopped and stared at Monroe for a few unsettling seconds. "I want you to come home with me."

Monroe closed his eyes and dropped his head so that it hit the wall behind him. He pictured all of the memories he'd left behind, all of the places… and he felt his heart begin to thud. "I can't go back."

"Monroe –"

"There's nothing there for me anymore!"

Nick clenched his hands into fists. He wanted to yell, "I'm there!" But he wasn't really sure that he had the right. Once upon a time, they'd been good friends. They'd shared their lives, even saved each other from being attacked by each other's parents a time or two. They'd fought back to back. But now… now his guilt was making him angry. Not at Monroe, never again at Monroe. "Where're you gonna go, then? Back to that shed in Alaska?"

Monroe frowned, absently picking at the blanket with his bandaged fingers.

"Look." Nick slid the chair as close to the bed as it could go. He sat in it and laid a hand over one of Monroe's. "Just come back with me until you can fend for yourself. If, after that, you still want to leave, I won't stop you."

"Like you could," Monroe muttered.

Nick risked a small smile. "I could totally take you."

Snorting, Monroe said, "Well, sure, now." He waved his free hand. "I've been declawed."

Nick frowned, taking Monroe's hand in both of his, feeling the strength in the fingers despite all they'd been through. "Will they grow back?"

"I hope so. He actually, um, took off everything, but Blutbads regenerate to a certain degree, so… I guess we'll have to wait and see." He paused a moment. "Um, maybe I could have my hand back?"

Nick let go quickly, trying not to flush. He'd gotten so caught up in the moment that he'd forgotten their boundaries for a second.

"I'll let you get your rest." He stood and headed for the door.

"Nick?"

Nick turned, finding Monroe lying back down, blinking owlishly at him.

"Thanks for saving me."

Nick smiled, probably the first real one in over two years. It felt a little strange. "Anytime."


	6. Chapter 6

Monroe made steady progress the next few days and was seated on the sofa when Greta made another appearance. Nick made sure to greet her by name, watching Monroe ease back into the cushions once he realized that she wasn't a threat. Bemusedly, he wondered what Monroe would've tried to do to her. He hadn't woged since he was rescued, and the tips of his fingers and toes were still wrapped. He could get around slowly but only with the help of the sturdy stick Nick had found for him in the forest.

Monroe was pretty quiet, frequently falling into dark thoughts. He was also plagued with nightmares, although Nick was pretty sure Monroe thought he and Lidiya didn't know about those. Nick hadn't mentioned them; he figured he would wait until Monroe was ready to talk.

Greta dumped a pile of clothing on the floor next to the fireplace before taking off her jacket and hanging it up. "These are for your trip back to America."

"Monroe, Greta, Greta, Monroe." Nick made the introductions as he pulled a large dark coat from the top of the pile. That one was definitely Monroe's.

"Yeah, about that," Monroe started.

Nick tried not to tense. They'd only spoken that one time about the future. Nick hadn't wanted to push, hoping that Monroe would bring up the subject, or just maybe go with the flow. He chose to remain silent, pulling out another black coat from the pile, this one more his size.

"Nick said we're in Russia. I don't have any papers or anything. How am I going to get through customs? And how am I going to explain all this?" He gestured toward his still-bruised face with his bandaged hands.

"You will return the same way Nick arrived," Greta said, smiling her thanks as Lidiya handed her a cup of tea. She sat in the chair opposite the sofa.

Monroe looked from Nick to Greta. "Anyone care to share?"

"Truck to the water, then underwater across the Bering Strait," Nick said as he finished dividing the clothes into two piles.

"Underwater? What do you mean, underwater?"

"They have this cold water scuba gear, and we hang on to the – "

"Actually, I've grown kind of fond of Russia," Monroe said, eyes wide. "Friendly people, when they aren't, you know, torturing you. Maybe I should just stay here."

Greta chuckled, and Nick had to hide his smile when he realized she thought Monroe was joking.

"What's so funny?" Monroe asked, distracted slightly when Lidiya handed him a cup of the medicinal tea that he hated. Ever the polite guest, he gave her a wan smile. "Cpasibah bahlshoye, Lidiya."

She beamed at him, and not for the first time, Nick could tell that somehow Monroe had wormed his way into her heart. At first, she'd been all business, tending to Monroe's injuries with the determination of someone who just wanted her house back. But over the last couple of days, Nick had seen her warm to the Blutbad. Whenever he was conscious, Monroe would always thank her in Russian. He knew more words than Nick – not a difficult task, since Nick only knew how to say, "thank you" – although not enough to carry on a conversation.

Perhaps it was Monroe's nightmares, the ones that had him shooting up in bed, panting and sweating. The first night it had happened, Nick had run into the doorway but stopped when he caught Monroe, eyes closed, trying to hold back his cries. He'd eased back quietly, wanting Monroe to have his dignity, and had almost stepped on Lidiya, whose quick reaction kept him from lighting himself on fire with the candlestick in her hand. Her eyes had flickered to Monroe's room to Nick, who'd shaken his head. She seemed to understand, nodding and retreating to her room on the other side of the kitchen.

Greta stood and followed Lidiya back into the kitchen area, speaking to the Fuchsbau rapidly in Russian.

Nick sat in the vacated chair. "I know you're not one for large bodies of water, but it's not really so bad."

Monroe gave him a soulful look as he took a sip of the tea and shuddered. "This stuff better give me superpowers."

"It can't be that bad," Nick said, smiling at Monroe's drama.

"What do you know about it? She gives you the fruity tea. I get the ones made from tree bark and moss or something." His hands started to shake, and he put the mug on the coffee table.

Nick had noticed that Monroe had been getting the shakes fairly often, but he hadn't said anything about it. Suddenly, he was tired of dancing around pretty much everything. "Are they getting better or worse?" He nodded toward Monroe's hands.

Clenching into fists, Monroe stared down at his hands. "I don't know. I can't remember if they shook when the bad Grimm had me, or if this is something new." He looked at Nick, his eyes filled with pain and acceptance and a touch of fear. "He was testing on me, injecting me with stuff.

It was the first time Monroe had really said anything about what had happened to him. Nick had attempted to broach the subject a few times, but Monroe just changed the subject. He didn't want to spook his friend now that Monroe was ready to talk about it. "Do you know how often or how much?"

Monroe's eyes looked up behind Nick, and Greta walked into his view, pulling on her coat. "I will be back, tomorrow after it is dark. We will leave then."

After a small smile at Monroe, Nick hopped up and walked Greta to the door. "He's having trouble with his hands. I'm not sure if he could hold on all the way across – "

Greta nodded. "We will come up with an alternate plan."

"Thanks," Nick said, grasping her arm and becoming slightly distracted at the thickness of the jacket.

Greta smiled and slipped out the door.

Shivering slightly at the chill outside, Nick turned back toward the fireplace. He stopped when he saw the frown on Monroe's face.

M

Monroe blinked, shocked at the sudden surge of… what was that? Anger? Possession? Fear? Nick had grabbed that woman's arm, and his urge to leap and sink his teeth into her throat had shocked him.

And that's when the throbbing began, his heartbeat so loud in his ears that he couldn't focus on anything else. He was barely aware of closing his eyes as his entire body began to shake…

He opened his eyes to find himself lying down, on the sofa if his elevated feet were a clue. A quick glance down at the warmth on his chest found his fingers intertwined with another. His eyes traced the hand to the arm and the arm to the body, and he was staring into the concerned eyes of his Grimm. "Wha' h'pp'n'd?"

Nick leaned forward. "You had some sort of seizure." He tightened his fingers around Monroe's.

Deciding that the pain was worth the comfort, Monroe pressed their hands tighter on his chest. "Sorry."

"I'll tell Greta that you're not ready for travel," Nick said, regaining his hand, much to Monroe's disappointment. He braced his hand against the sofa as he got off his knees. "I'll see if Lidiya knows how to get in touch with her."

With a groan, Monroe pulled himself to sitting. "It was probably only a panic attack. Besides, you suddenly learn Russian while I was out?"

Nick shrugged. "I'll try sign language… or something." He stood and headed toward the kitchen.

"Wait. I'm fine." Nick shot him a look of disbelief. "I will be fine," he amended. "I'll be good enough to travel at least."

Nick sat back down on the coffee table, automatically reaching for Monroe's hand again. "I don't want you to push it."

"You know me. I'm not the hero type," Monroe reminded Nick. "I have no problems complaining. Besides," he said quickly when he saw Nick's eyes start to lower toward their intertwined fingers, "aren't you the one who wants me to come back?"

"I am," Nick said. "But the goal is for you to be alive when you get there."

"I'm not going to die," Monroe said, squeezing Nck's hand. He could feel that he was on the mend. Okay, he wasn't sure about his fingernails and toenails and the shakes and now the panic attack, but he didn't have any kind of internal injuries or anything else what would kill him on what sounded like a really uncomfortable trip. "Well, unless I drown hanging from the bottom of that boat."

"Greta's working on an alternate plan," Nick said.

"I'm sure she is," Monroe muttered, suddenly unhappy and very tired. Pulling his legs to the floor, he grabbed his cane – Nick refused to call it anything but a stick; evidently he'd left his imagination at home – hefted himself up, ignoring the pressure in his fingers, and hobbled into the bedroom. He looked at the messy bed, absently remembering his penchant for neatness back in Portland. Flopping down on the bed, he sighed, allowing himself to relax for just a minute. He was tired – not in the after a hard day's work tired or even the after a really good Pilates workout tired. He felt it through his muscles down to the bone. It didn't help that he wasn't sleeping; the nightmares saw to that. There were also the tremors in his hands and the inexplicable emotions warring inside him. And pushed deep, deep down was the fear that maybe his inability to woge was the manifestation of something worse, the loss of the Blutbad part of him. Right now, whenever he tried to call on that inner part of him, all he felt was a deep, dark, silent hole. So he tried to think about other things, because just the idea of losing such an integral part of him was unacceptable.

A knock on the doorframe had him straightening.

"You okay?" Nick walked into the room, concern filling his eyes.

Not that he'd ever admit it out loud, but Monroe had come to appreciate that Nick worried about him. It wasn't something he'd ever taken for granted, but after what'd happened, he didn't think it was something he'd ever experience again. Even now, when he knew he didn't deserve it, or maybe because he knew he didn't deserve it, he found himself soaking it up, trying to remember every detail for when it was taken from him again. "Yeah," he nodded, adjusting his grip on his cane, "I'm okay."

One look at the dark circles underneath Monroe's eyes, the way his shoulders dropped whenever he thought no one was looking, and even a stranger could tell that Monroe wasn't okay. He knew that Monroe still blamed himself for what happened and didn't believe he deserved Nick's forgiveness.

But Nick had known Monroe long enough to know that no one could ever be as hard on Monroe as he was on himself. Even if he accepted that Nick's forgiveness was genuine, he was still going to have to find a way to come to terms with what had happened.

They spent the next morning like they had the previous ones, Nick lugging water from the stream for Lidiya and chopping some wood for the fire, Monroe trying to look upbeat whenever he felt a gaze in his direction, Lidiya smiling her way through feeding them and dosing Monroe with the dreaded medicinal tea. Everyone ignored the fact that later that evening, he and Monroe would start their journey back to Portland.

What he estimated was a few hours before Greta's arrival, Nick made sure to chop more wood for Lidiya, filling up the wood box inside the house. He also brought up as much water as she could comfortably hold inside the house. He figured it was the least he could do, considering how much he and Monroe had put her out in the last week. She gave him one of her toothless grins, and he realized that he was going to miss her.

Just as dusk began to fall, Greta knocked and came inside, pulling off her hood. She didn't bother taking off her large, camouflage coat, which was fine with Nick, since he was already dressed. Monroe was behind the closed door of the bedroom, determined to put on the wetsuit by himself. Nick wondered if Monroe had been that modest two years ago or if this were a new development. It slightly amused him, since he and Lidiya had been responsible for all of Monroe when they'd first arrived while Monroe had been out of it. But at the time, Nick had only been focused on Monroe's well being, on trying to stop the bleeding, help the wounds heal. Now Monroe was capable of handling himself for the most part; Nick still helped apply Lidiya's ointments and wrapped the wounds difficult for Monroe to reach.

Lidiya walked into the living room, her eyes meeting Greta's for a moment, before she slipped over to Monroe's door, knocked twice, and silently slipped inside.

Greta turned her attention to Nick. "You are ready?"

Nick nodded. "Just waiting on Monroe." He found he had to force himself not to offer excuses for his friend, instead focusing on the journey ahead. "Did you come up with an alternate plan for our crossing the Strait?"

Greta nodded. "You will be forced into close quarters, but I am certain it will suffice."

"Do we still need the wet suits?"

She nodded.

"Monroe will be so pleased," he said dryly, watching a small smile flitter briefly across her face.

The door opened, Lidiya leading an unsettled looking Monroe out of the bedroom.

"Ready?" Nick asked. He hadn't put on his outer jacket yet; he knew just how warm the thing was, so he wasn't in any rush.

Monroe nodded, pulling a little at his inseam. "It's awfully tight."

Nick grinned. "It's a wetsuit."

Monroe sighed, rolling his eyes. "This is just so wrong."

Fighting back a laugh, Nick handed Monroe his black coat. "Final layer."

Monroe slowly put on his jacket with Lidiya's help. It was obvious he wanted to do it himself, but he let her hold it for him as he slipped his arms in each sleeve, not wanting to hurt her feelings.

Lidiya allowed Monroe to work the zipper himself as she turned to Nick, holding out her hands and speaking in Russian.

"She says she will miss you and hopes you have a safe trip back to your homeland."

Nick smiled. "Can you thank her for me? I wish there were something I could do for her to repay her for everything she's done for us…"

Lidiya shook her head as Greta translated, grabbing hold of Nick's hands in each of hers.

"She says that it was an honor to help a Grimm and his Blutbad friend. It makes her hopeful that one day we can all come together in peace."

Nick smiled, wondering how such an old lady could be so naïve, then wondering when he'd become so bitter.

Monroe snorted. "Our friendship does fall into the realm of miracles."

Lidiya let go Nick and turned toward Monroe with a strict face. She spoke rapidly, pointing at him with a finger. The only word Nick recognized was "Grimm".

His eyes wide, Monroe looked to Greta, who said, "She told you to take care of yourself and to listen to your Grimm, who only wants what's best for you."

Monroe looked over at Nick. "She has no idea about how you like to throw yourself at danger on a daily basis."

Nick grinned. "Hey, you have to listen to me. Lidiya's instructions."

"That's because she's never watched you and Hank clear a box of donuts and empty a carafe of that sludge you call coffee in less than twenty minutes."

That set Lidiya off on another speech, this time her finger pushed into Monroe's chest.

Monroe cut her off by gently taking her hand and kissing the back of it. He looked directly into her eyes and said, "Thank you. For everything you've done."

No translation was needed.


	7. Chapter 7

Monroe remembered little of the next few days. He and Nick had been placed in a hidden compartment underneath an old, rickety truck that had Monroe waiting for it to sigh its last breath and collapse on top of them. It was made to be roomy for one medium sized person, so Monroe and Nick had to shove in together to fit. Monroe had to fold his legs, his head bent at an awkward angle, and somehow Nick ended up behind him as the big spoon.

It wasn't nearly as bad as he pretended.

There was something kind of soothing, actually, about having Nick's arm around him, holding him close. When he concentrated, he could hear Nick's heartbeat, so strong and sure that it seemed to envelope him, wrapping him in a safe little cocoon.

He'd just managed to doze off by the time the truck finally stopped, and after a lot of shuffling noises, Greta's head appeared. They took a short tea break and then were escorted onto a dock, told to hold their breaths as they swam underneath some sort of boat before they climbed into yet another compartment. Monroe hated being submerged in the dark, cold water. But then Nick's arms were around him once again, and he fell asleep almost immediately – about the time when he realized that those bastards had drugged his tea.

Buzzing noises filled his dreams, and a sense of wrongness made him open his eyes to find himself lying on a very comfortable sofa in a vaguely familiar airplane.

A sleeping Nick was reclined in one of the chairs across from him, and suddenly Monroe realized that it was the lack of Nick lying with him that made him feel like something was missing. However, he also realized that this provided an opportunity for Monroe to stare at the Grimm at his leisure.

Silver strands highlighted Nick's temples, and Monroe frowned, wondering if they'd appeared as a result of his mistake years ago. He could also see faint impressions of small lines radiating from the corner of Nick's eyes, the dark stubble of his beard. Monroe absently supposed Nick really hadn't had time for a shave while they were smuggled back into the US. Even disheveled and exhausted, Nick was a welcome sight, one Monroe thought would only exist in his memories.

A movement across from Nick caused Monroe to jerk in surprise. He figured he must've still really been out of it if it had taken this long for him to notice the man sitting there staring at him.

The man looked like the few Alaskan Natives that Monroe had interacted with once he'd built his temple of solitude: long, black hair, slightly angled eyes. He wore what Monroe considered the unofficial uniform of the bush: flannel shirt, worn jeans, and western boots. Sure, sometimes the choice of footwear changed, Monroe himself preferred hiking boots, but the rest could be found in anyone's closet.

The man smiled at Monroe and held up his hand, palm facing Monroe.

Monroe nodded back, relaxing slightly. He figured that if the man had meant them harm, he could've taken care of it while both he and Nick had been sleeping.

"They drug him too?" Monroe whispered, head tilting toward Nick.

The man didn't even flinch at Monroe's words. "I think it's just exhaustion."

"Where are we?"

The man looked at his watch. "About an hour away from Portland."

Monroe's stomach clenched. He'd moved away for a reason and couldn't imagine how he was going to maintain his sanity once he started seeing familiar landmarks filled with memories… Just the thought of going to the grocery store where he and –

He quickly abandoned the memory. They hadn't even landed yet, and he was being assailed with things he'd tried to bury.

Maybe it was good that he couldn't tap into his wolf, woge and howl at the moon. He'd maintained control by removing himself from society and rebuilding his will, but returning to Portland was definitely going to send him into a tailspin. The last thing he wanted was to lose control, forcing Nick to take him down. He knew Nick still considered him a friend – it blew his mind each time he thought about it – and Monroe knew that forcing Nick to kill him might also end up being the final piece in the Grimm's destruction. He didn't want to be responsible for that; he didn't want that to happen to Nick at all.

Nick had asked him to stay until he was able to fend for himself. Without the daily abuse inflicted upon him by the bad Grimm, Monroe's body was healing nicely, leaving behind mostly just various scars. All he needed to do was grow back his fingernails, somehow stop the tremors, completely cut out the panic attacks, and he was free to leave. He just needed to focus on handling those three issues, keep his memories at bay, and stay out of everyone's way, and he'd escape Portland. _Right, no problem,_ he thought, sighing as he flopped back on the sofa and closed his eyes.

M

Nick felt himself tilt along with the plane as it adjusted course, and he stretched luxuriously, enjoying the space and comfort of his seat.

"You're gonna hate flying commercial after this."

He opened his eyes and grinned at Darren, who sat smiling across from him.

"If I can't go like this, I'm sticking to road trips, my friend." He glanced over at Monroe, who looked like he hadn't moved since they'd dragged him onto the plane, one arm over Darren's shoulders and one over his, and eased him onto the sofa.

"He woke up once," Darren said. "Wanted to know if you'd been drugged too."

Nick smiled ruefully. "Monroe's not one for water."

"That explains the storage space on the boat," Darren said, nodding.

The trip back had had a feeling of urgency behind it. Nick hadn't asked why but had followed directions and helped a drowsy Monroe through it all. He'd managed to nod his thanks to Ca'Trena and give Meka a quick pat before they'd climbed onto the plane, and then they were on the last leg to home.

Home he thought, wistfully. Portland hadn't really seemed that way for the past two years, but now that he had Monroe back… it suddenly felt right.

And then he remembered that he hadn't had time to call anyone about their arrival, so he turned his attention back to Darren. "Is there a way I can make a call?"

"Your friends were contacted with your arrival time," Darren said.

Once again, Nick was impressed. "Thanks," he said. "For everything."

Darren smiled and nodded just as the pilot asked them to prepare for landing.

Sure enough, Hank was leaning against his car, arms folded and ankles crossed, as they taxied to a stop.

"Those must've been some good drugs," Nick muttered to himself when he saw that Monroe hadn't roused. He grasped Monroe's shoulder, and Monroe's eyes opened instantly. "We're here."

"Terrific," Monroe moaned, attempting to sit up, a feat he wasn't able to accomplish until Nick released the two seatbelts Darren had jury rigged to keep Monroe from falling off the sofa during takeoff and landing. Once he was seated upright, Monroe took a good look around the plane. "This is what, a Bombardier Challenger 300?"

"Yep," Darren said, standing close by in case Monroe needed help deplaning.

Nick couldn't hide his surprise. "How did you even know that?"

Monroe arched an eyebrow, the most animated Nick had seen him over the last few days. "I have hidden depths."

"I guess you do," Nick said, holding back a laugh. "Let's get out of here."

"Actually, what are the odds that I could just live here?"

Nick saw the anxiety in Monroe's eyes and knew that they had a lot to talk about. He probably should've forced the issue back in Russia, but part of him didn't want to upset the Blutbad while he was healing. Of course, he also had to admit he was dreading the inevitable conversation. "Okay, so long story short. Your house is gone. Evidently, it was also on Dante Forn's list."

"Who's Dante Forn?"

"That's the name of the Drang-Zorn."

Nick watched Monroe's face as he processed the information, and he wondered absently if Monroe knew just how much he gave away with his eyes and his expression. He made a note to keep that information to himself; Monroe might actually consider it a liability and try to adopt a mask. No, Monroe was fine just the way he was.

"I guess we really didn't know his name, did we?"

Nick shook his head. "We didn't find out until after we identified his body."

Monroe blinked a few times, his eyes refusing to meet Nick's. "That's another argument for me to just stay here, then." He tried to smile.

"You're going to stay with me," Nick said.

Monroe's eyes instantly widened in alarm, and Nick could tell he was still worried about the memories.

Nick reached out, grabbing Monroe's knee. "I sold the house a long time ago."

"Where – where do you live now?" Monroe's guilt drenched his words.

"I'm not sure actually," Nick said, smiling. He squeezed Monroe's knee before standing. "C'mon. Hank's outside waiting for us, and I'm sure Darren and the jet have some other people they need to save in, like, Guadalajara or someplace."

Darren rolled his eyes and shook his head, but Nick could see the smile tugging to break free.

It took a lot of groaning, but Monroe was finally upright. "Man, I don't even know what you put in that tea, but it packs quite a wallop."

Nick shrugged, standing close to Monroe in case the Blutbad lost his balance. "It was Greta's."

"Of course it was," Monroe muttered.

Nick had picked up on Monroe's animosity toward Greta, and he couldn't quite figure out the problem. He'd explained how not only did she help him with an unconscious Monroe, but she'd saved both their lives by killing the Grimm who'd tortured him. All the while, Monroe had nodded, but Nick could tell by his eyes that Monroe still didn't like her much. But he was still polite when she came around, so Nick just let it go. After all, they probably would never see her again. "Let me give you a hand." He stood, taking Monroe's hand and pulling gently until the Blutbad stood beside him.

"What about our stuff?" Monroe asked, looking befuddled. Nick refused to think he was a little adorable like that. "Do we have stuff?"

"Just my wallet, cell, and this bag," Nick said, holding up his small dufflebag and patting his jacket for the wallet and phone that Darren had returned him right before take off.

They descended the stairs slowly, giving Hank more than enough time to push off the car and stride toward them. "Welcome back," he said, smiling as he grasped Nick's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. His eyes shot to Monroe, who was focused on the final few steps to the ground. "I see you found what you were looking for," he said quietly.

Nick tilted his head. "A little worse for wear, but he's doing much better than when we found him."

"I can't wait to hear about it," Hank said, using that detective's tone to show that it wasn't a request.

Nick didn't take offense. After all Hank had put up with, and all that he'd done for Nick – and Monroe – he deserved the story. Nodding, he looked at the car. "I'm surprised Wu didn't show up too."

"I wasn't sure what to expect," Hank said, head tilted subtlety toward Monroe, who was talking to Darren, "so I told him that we'd have dinner at your place this weekend after you had time to get your bearings."

"I guess that means you found something?"

"It's perfect," Hank boasted. "If I weren't such a kick-ass cop, I would've made a fantastic realtor."

"Now I'm a little worried," Nick said, grinning. "Let me just –" He gestured toward Darren.

"Take your time," Hank said. "I'll make sure there's space in the backseat for Monroe to stretch out."

M

Monroe felt a little awkward as he held out his hand, his fingertips still bandaged, toward Darren. He'd only spoken to the man briefly on the plane when he'd awakened for that short time, but he had the feeling that the man had helped Nick track him down. "Umm, thanks?" He hated the way his voice had gone up at the end, making it more of a question than he'd intended.

Darren gave a small smile and shook his hand. Monroe suspected that his grip was way looser than usual, and he appreciated that. "Take care of yourself. And him."

Monroe wasn't sure what to say to that. It was obvious that Nick was more than capable of taking care of himself. Fortunately, he was spared having to respond by Nick's appearance.

"Darren. It's been a pleasure. Thanks for everything."

"I'm glad it all worked out," Darren said, shaking Nick's hand firmly, confirming Monroe's guess about his grip.

It took an awkward moment before Monroe realized that the two men needed to speak privately. "I, umm, I'll be at the car," he said, giving Darren one last smile before turning away.

He tried not to let his footsteps falter as he saw Hank. The last time they'd seen each other, Hank had heard Nick's scathing words to Monroe and had turned Nick, leading him away from Monroe before the Grimm launched himself at the Blutbad. As he slowly drew closer, watching Hank slide the front passenger seat forward, Monroe found a thousand questions running through his mind. Had Hank blamed him for what had happened? Did he still blame him? What did Hank think of Nick's risking himself to rescue Monroe? What did he think about Monroe's return? Did he know about Nick's decision to have Monroe live with him?

"Welcome back," Hank said, closing the door and reaching out his hand.

Monroe wasn't sure if he hid his relief as he read only concern and welcome in Hank's eyes. He reached for Hank's hand.

"Whoah," Hank said, hand shooting back.

Blinking, Monroe wondered if maybe he'd misunderstood.

"Your hands look a little well worn," Hank explained, reminding Monroe of his bandages.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Monroe said awkwardly.

"If you say so," Hank said, obviously not buying it. He stepped forward, taking Monroe by the arm. "Why don't we get you in the back so you can stretch out."

Monroe wanted to say that he didn't need to be coddled, but it sounded ungrateful even in his mind. So he walked with Hank to the car and let the man get him settled. He'd just managed to pull his cane in behind him before Hank closed the door, turned, and asked, "We ready to go?"

"We're good," Nick replied, getting into the passenger seat.

Hank started the car, and Nick turned partially in his seat so he could face Monroe. "So I called Hank after we'd gotten you to Lidiya's and asked him to buy us a house."

Monroe frowned, wondering if he were still suffering from the tea's side effects. Damn that Greta, he thought briefly before saying, "I thought I just heard you say that you asked Hank to buy you a house."

Nick rolled his eyes, a shamefaced grin on his face. " _Us._ And I did. See..."

"Nick was living in the back room of his crap-hole of an office," Hank interjected, confusing Monroe even more.

"When did detectives get their own offices? Wait – did you get a promotion or something?"

Monroe watched Hank and Nick share a look he didn't understand.

"I'm not a cop anymore."

Monroe felt like someone had punched him in the chest. He knew how much Nick loved being a cop, how hard he'd fought to continue after he'd become a Grimm. "But you – " He stopped, realizing when it all had to have gone down. Maybe Nick had been blamed for everything and they fired him. Maybe he'd been forced to quit in a haze of guilt. He closed his eyes, trying to gather his thoughts. Part of him really wanted to know what had happened, but he knew that if he asked and learned that it was because of him, he wasn't going to be able to even look at Nick again, much less stay at his house. How could he handle knowing that he'd taken even more from Nick that he'd realized?

"Monroe." Nick's voice was firm.

Monroe just shook his head, eyes closed. This was why he left. He'd destroyed so much.

He felt pressure on his leg and knew it was Nick, reaching back.

He heart started to thump heavily, and he wanted to escape, to let the wolf take over, but… it wasn't there. Monroe looked inside himself and only found an empty chasm. His head started to spin, the heavy boom boom boom of his heart sending heat into his face, and he was lost, confused, directionless. He gasped, trying to draw in air, but found the more he tried, the less he could breathe…


	8. Chapter 8

"Hey!"

The shock of a hard smack across his face forced his eyes open, and he found himself staring at Nick, who leaned over him and was looking down at him, concern in his eyes. "Are you back with me?"

Monroe rubbed at his eyes.

"Monroe. Look at me." He really didn't want to, but his eyes returned to Nick's. "It's not your fault."

He wanted to say, "Liar", but all he could do was shake his head.

Nick adjusted himself until he straddled Monroe as much as he could within the confines of the backseat and pressed a hand on either side of Monroe's face until Monroe couldn't do anything but look at him. "Not. Your. Fault." Nick's thumbs started moving, and only then did Monroe realize that he was wiping tears from Monroe's cheeks.

"I can't –"

Nick leaned closer until his forehead pressed against Monroe's. "You can. I'll help."

"I will too," a voice called from the front seat, puncturing the cocoon Monroe hadn't realized he and Nick had created.

"Me too," another voice, this one tinny, also said from the front seat.

His head still pressed against Monroe's, Nick smiled. "Wu?"

"I was feeling left out, asked Hank to put me on speaker. How's it going, Monroe?"

He felt Nick's chuckle throughout his own body and couldn't help an answering one of his own. Leave it to Wu to act like Monroe'd been on vacation. "I've, umm, been better."

"Bet you've been worse too," Wu said, ever tactful. "Wait until you see Nick's new house. It's a beauty. A little out of the way for my taste, but you know me. I love the nightlife; I like to boogie."

Rolling his eyes, Nick slowly backed off Monroe and continued out the open back door. It was then that Monroe realized that at some point during his breakdown, Hank had pulled over so Nick could climb out the front and into the back with him. He ran a hand over his face, trying to get rid of any residual tears, and took a deep, shaky breath. He needed to get himself under control. The only way he was going to make it out of Portland with his sanity is if he closed off the past. He dug deep, trying to find the detachment he'd created in Alaska, but it was difficult as Nick and Hank chatted with Wu in the front seat. Opening his eyes, he looked down at his hands and watched them twitching in his lap. Wishing he'd been left alone back in Alaska, his Blutbadness and fingernails still intact, he pressed his face against the cool window and just wished for it all to be over.

M

Hank disconnected with Wu and shot a glance at Nick. "He asleep?"

Nick looked into the backseat, saddened at how defeated Monroe looked, curled up behind Hank's seat, his face pressed against the window. His hands twitched in his lap, uncontrollable even in his sleep. "Yeah."

"He's not looking so good."

"The guy who took him was a Grimm."

Hank's eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

Nick's checked once more to make sure Monroe was indeed asleep before asking, "How much longer until we get to the house?"

"I'll take the scenic route," Hank said. "Just start at the beginning."

So Nick began right after Hank had left him at the airport, leaving out nothing along the way, finishing with landing back in Portland, Monroe in tow. Spent, Nick flopped back in his seat, his gaze unfocused.

"Wow," Hank said, blowing out a breath. "That's some story, although that Grimm's death was a little anticlimactic."

"I'm sorry we didn't have time for a complicated fight sequence," Nick muttered, rolling his eyes.

"You had that entire flight to come up with a really great lie. I gotta say, you obviously didn't spend that time wisely." Hank's grin became more mischievous as he slid his eyes quickly to Nick. "So this Greta sounds kind of hot."

Grinning back, Nick rolled his head to look at his former partner. "After everything I told you, that's what caught your interest?"

"Hey," Hank shrugged a shoulder, "it's time I was looking into finding the future fourth ex Mrs. Hank Griffin. A little international flavor might just be what I need. Was she beautiful? She sounds beautiful."

Nick shook his head. Sure, she was a looker, but he found that his focus had somehow… drifted. He wasn't sure when it had happened; maybe it had always been there, underneath the surface, but Juliette and then later Rosalee had pressed it down so far that he hadn't even realized its existence. But now, with both of them gone and Monroe almost lost to him, he was finding it more and more difficult to push down the feelings that continued rising inside him, making him want to reach out and touch much more than he should.

But he was still trying to figure it all out and wasn't ready to share with anyone. So instead of spilling out the pieces of his confused longings and wishes, he just tilted his head. "She was a looker."

"And a warrior woman," Hank said. "That sounds kinda hot."

Nick's eyes flickered to the backseat, where he caught Monroe's glare before the Blutbad changed his focus, eyes shifting to stare out the window. How much had he heard? And why was he glaring?

Sighing, Nick turned his attention back to Hank, mentally adding yet another thing he and Monroe were probably going to have to work out. He wished that he could blink ahead, six months or maybe a year, where ideally, Monroe would be healed both mentally and physically and had made the decision to stay in Portland. To stay with Nick. His musing was cut short when Hank pulled into a driveway partially hidden by trees. He suddenly realized that he hadn't been paying attention to Hank's route and only had a basic idea of where they were. Wu was right; they had to be a bit off the beaten track, but Nick liked the idea of having land where Monroe could wolf out in relative safety.

The open wrought-iron fence was a surprise. "Are we still in Oregon?" Nick asked, only half joking.

"Very funny," Hank said. "I know it feels a little away from the swing of things, but you're only about half an hour away from the office – _my_ office."

Nick almost smiled at the slip. He had to admit that even though he'd finally made his peace with quitting, he still found himself automatically driving toward the police department at times, often reaching for his old badge.

One of the things he'd come to realize was that his determination to protect the innocent, both human and Wesen, wasn't tied to the badge. Thanks to his bounty hunting, he had a license to carry his gun, and he still had his contacts in the police department. Sure, he missed the daily camaraderie, but he found that he still lived by the same rules, still had the same values. He might not be able to actively arrest someone, but he also didn't have all of the paperwork either. He worked his own hours, chose his cases.

At first he'd drunk a little too much to escape the pain. After the fourth or fifth time Hank'd had to pull him off a barstool and pour him into his guest bedroom, the detective'd had enough. He'd taken some personal time and kidnapped Nick to an old friend's skiing cabin. He'd dried Nick out, sat him down, and forced him to come to grips with a few things. It had been a tough few days, but Nick had emerged more resolved than he'd ever felt in his life. He'd lost so much, but he was determined to immerse himself in his work as a Grimm. The bounty hunting and private detective work provided excuses for his Grimm work and paid for his Grimm supplies. What little free time he had he either spent training and researching – and hanging out with Hank and Wu, who were always there for him.

Oblivious to Nick's introspection, Hank drove through the open gate, adopting a formal, lilting voice. "You'll notice that the raised wood walkway leads to the front door – an excellent location to take out unfriendly Wesen before they even make it to your gorgeous foyer."

"This place is huge," Monroe said from the backseat. "How many families are you expecting to move in with Nick?"

"It has five bedrooms, but listen – listen!" Hank had to holler to be heard over Nick and Monroe's protests. "There is an explanation." He paused in the silence. "I'm just not prepared to make it quite yet."

"You bought me a mansion, and you're not prepared to explain why you chose something so huge for two of us?"

"Not yet, no," Hank said firmly. "However, I will say that the house comes with over nine acres of forest. So you can train and do whatever out there without having to worry that someone's gonna spot you." He pulled up behind Nick's car, turned off the motor, and pulled out his key. Smiling a huge plastic smile, he first turned to Monroe, then Nick. "Let's go take a look at the inside, shall we?"

Nick couldn't help but share his grin with Monroe, who rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

It took a little time to get Monroe out of the car, and of course he insisted on pulling out the dumb stick Nick had given to him as a joke back in Russia. Nick had tried to ask Darren for a cane, but Monroe had refused to relinquish Nick's gift.

Hank waited for them before pulling out the key with a flourish. "Pay particular attention to the vaulted ceilings and Pergo flooring."

Nick frowned. "What's Pergo?"

Hank didn't even pause. "I have no idea. But evidently it's something to brag about."

Monroe sighed. "It's a high-quality, durable laminate. They can texture it to resemble quite a few natural floorings like wood or stone."

Nick frowned. "Why not just get wood or stone?"

"Pergo's easier to maintain," Monroe said.

"So you can clean up any stains or fluids or anything easily," Hank added.

Nick looked at his friend. "What exactly do you think is going to go on here?"

"Just take a look at the damn house," Hank muttered, finally unlocking the door and opening it with a flourish. He quickly showed them how to work the alarm, telling them that the written instructions and other paperwork were in a small pile on the kitchen counter.

Nick walked into the living room and had to admit that he liked the feel of the place already. The vaulted ceilings Hank was bragging about did make the room feel open and welcoming. He was of mixed minds about the two picture windows – on one hand, they provided a beautiful view of the woods. But that meant that anyone else could also see inside.

"Thick curtains'll take care of that," Monroe said, reading his mind, the thump of his stick echoing in the empty room. He looked down, hitting the floor a few more times. "Pergo."

"You really need to stop watching HGTV," Hank said.

"Absolutely not," Nick said. "I have to figure out how to decorate all these rooms on the what? The fifty cents I have left in my account."

They walked into the kitchen, and Monroe stopped at the entrance with a soft, "oh!" He limped into the room happily, feeling the cabinets. "These are cherry!" He turned, thumping to the island, caressing the countertop. "Quartz," he sighed.

"So…," Nick said after controlling his smile at Monroe's obvious pleasure. "Better than Pergo?"

"Shut up."

They made their way through the house, the bedrooms (Hank: "Each of you could have your own office – Monroe, just imagine how many clocks you could fit in here."), the four and a half baths (Nick: "How much peeing are you expecting us to do?" Hank: "I've seen how much you can put away. Now you'll have a better chance of actually making it to a toilet, no matter where in the house you're drinking." Nick: "I don't have to worry about that. We have Pergo floors." Monroe [sighing]: "This is going to be a thing, isn't it?"), and the basement (Nick: "What are we supposed to do with all this?" Hank: "It's perfect for an entertainment room. Buy a couple of really comfortable sofas, the ones with the built-in cup holders, an HD TV or maybe go 3-D..." Nick: "If we do that, you'll never leave." Monroe: "I got it! Two of the bedrooms are for you and Wu!" Nick: "Good, then you both can pay rent.").

They ended up on the deck, each with a beer from the six-pack that Hank had stashed in the fridge, as the sun went down. Nick noticed that it wasn't Hank's normal cheap brand but rather one of the more expensive microbrews that Monroe favored. He watched Monroe's pleased surprise when he recognized the label, the fond look he gave Hank, who smiled and gently clapped Monroe on the shoulder as he passed by on his way outside.

Unsure what bedrooms they might want to use but knowing they had to sleep somewhere on their first night, Hank had purchased two beds – a California King for Monroe and a regular king for Nick "so you won't get an inferiority complex" – and had them installed in the two master bedrooms. He'd also bought toilet paper, sheets, pillows, and blankets for the both of them, "just the necessities for your first night home".

"How can a house have two master bedrooms?" Nick asked, taking a sip of his beer and silently acknowledging that he'd missed the expensive stuff. It had somehow felt wrong to drink it without Monroe around, like he was cheating or something.

They both looked at Monroe, who thought for a second. "Maybe the husband snored, so the wife had to have her own bedroom. And she wasn't about to get stuck in some small room…"

"So two master bedrooms," Hank said. "Well, it works out really well for you both." He held up his beer. "Here's to two master bedrooms."

"And to Hank for finding this place," Nick said, honestly touched at the work Hank had gone through. When he'd used Greta's satellite phone to ask for Hank's help, he'd only expected the detective to find something better than the inner office of his business. He hadn't intended for Hank to go so far out of his way. Of course, he was worried about the price. He'd made good money off his old house, but it wasn't going to touch how much this house must've cost. He'd have to take on more cases to make the mortgage payments, but imagining Monroe running free in the backyard made the whole thing feel worth it.

"To Hank," Monroe seconded, touching his bottle to Hank and Nick's. He seemed to be in a better mood, probably because this house held a large comfortable bed with his name on it and no burdensome memories.

Hank left after finishing his beer, reminding them that he and Wu would be back the following night to "christen this place properly". Nick leaned against the door, sighing as he looked at his new home. Hank had promised to bring by all the paperwork so they could go over it, but he'd said he'd gotten a good deal.

To be honest, Nick didn't really care about the money. Thanks to the improvements he and Juliette had made over the years and the fact that it had been a seller's market, he'd actually made money on the old house. Evidently now it was a buyer's market, and Hank had let that work for him.

The past few years, Nick hadn't really spent much money on anything. He'd bought a few guns since he'd had return his police-issued weapon and started renting his office/living space. But besides a few Grimm supplies, general necessities, and food – and beer – he'd just deposited any money he made.

He liked the place. Sure, it was way too big for him and Monroe, but it had a good feel to it. It felt spacious but not overwhelming.

Pushing away from the door, he headed toward the kitchen, where he heard Monroe opening and closing various cabinets.

"So what do you think?"

"This kitchen is fantastic!" Monroe's head popped over the island for a moment before disappearing again. "The shelf space blows my mind, and the number of outlets means that we can pretty much choose where we want to put our appliances without having to make adjustments."

Nick liked the way Monroe took charge of the kitchen, automatically using words like "we" and "us" when he spoke. He didn't stop the smile from spreading across his face. "You know all I really care about is having a coffee maker."

"Still haven't learned how to cook?" Monroe's muffled voice asked.

"There really wasn't a point. It was just me, and the office doesn't have a kitchen," he said, thinking of the ancient microwave and the hotplate on his windowsill.

The ensuing silence made him curse silently. His life hadn't felt pathetic until he saw it from Monroe's view.

He decided to change the subject. "Hank left sandwich fixings so we wouldn't have to worry about dinner."

Monroe stood, his eyes darting everywhere but at Nick, obviously a bad sign. "I'm, um, actually pretty tired."

Nick checked his phone. "It's only seven o'clock."

"Time zone change, what a bitch, right?" Monroe tossed a lame smile in Nick's direction. "I'm just gonna…" He tilted his head toward the stairs. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Night," Nick said, disappointed but not surprised. He knew this was going to take time, choosing to focus on the positives. This time two weeks ago, he was living in his office and hadn't known anything about Monroe's whereabouts. Now he had Monroe, a huge house, and nine acres of woods. It was an excellent start.


	9. Chapter 9

Monroe wasn't really sleepy when he thumped up the stairs to his room – the second master bedroom, he thought rolling his eyes and fighting back a smile. He paused a moment at the top of the stairs when he felt a strange feeling in his chest. He frowned, pushing at it with his free hand, worried about maybe a heart attack or a stroke. Then he realized that it was… maybe happiness. Or relief? He hadn't felt either in so long that he'd forgotten how they felt. He pressed down on his cane with more force than usual, taking the last few steps to his room.

Disrobing to his boxers and t-shirt, he lowered himself to the bed, ignoring the pull of a few muscles as he attempted to come to grips with the fact that he was back in Portland.

Back with Nick.

He began to panic. What if it happened all over again? What if this time instead of Juliette and Rosalee it was Hank and Wu?

He didn't realize he was shaking and cold until he felt Nick slide in the bed behind him, whispering, "It's okay," wrapping his warmth around Monroe, pressing a hand against Monroe's heart.

Monroe wanted to lie and say that he was okay. He wanted to pull away and ask Nick to leave him in peace. Instead, he pressed Nick's hand against his chest as if he could permanently embed it into his skin. He gave a shuddering sigh, closed his eyes, sinking into a wave of contentment in minutes.

He wasn't sure what time it was when he awoke, but he was alone. He ignored the disappointment, recognizing how awkward the morning after would've been, and slowly pushed himself to sitting. He was now covered in the blanket that had been folded at the foot of the bed, the clothes he'd just dropped the night before shoved underneath one of the windows. He chuckled at his first thought, that of course it wouldn't have occurred to Nick to fold the clothes. He realized that Nick had probably only moved them so that he could close Monroe's door.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Monroe slid back down the bed, pulling the blanket underneath his chin. _Nick_ had held him last night. Nick had held _him_ last night. Nick had held him _last night_. He wasn't sure what to make of it. While he'd been recuperating, Monroe had felt Nick run a hand through Monroe's sweaty hair, and the day before he'd pressed his forehead against Monroe's. Nick had realized that Monroe needed help and had responded by comforting him physically. It hadn't meant more than the times Nick had pressed his hands on Monroe's cheeks to get his attention.

It had felt really good, though, Monroe had to admit.

He flashed back to when they'd found Holly. She'd been touch-starved, constantly hugging Monroe once she realized that he wasn't a danger to her. At the time, he'd kind of figured it out, but he hadn't really understood it. Now he got it. He'd wanted to press against Nick, fold the Grimm into him until they became one body. It was like he'd been withheld water, and Nick was an unending source suddenly there for the taking.

Only Nick wasn't his for the taking. Nick wasn't his at all.

Hearing a thump downstairs, Monroe knew he should get up. He just felt uncertain how to act in front of Nick. Should they talk about it? He really didn't want to talk about it.

Finally he forced himself out of bed and donned his wrinkled clothes. He realized that he had nothing: no money, no clothes, not even a toothbrush. Thanks to that Drang-Zorn, Dante something, everything Monroe had owned had been reduced to ash. He'd learned his lesson that night as he stood in front of the ashes that had been his home. What was the point of cherishing possessions when they could be taken from you in the flick of a match? That was why Nick hadn't found anything important in Monroe's shelter in Alaska.

And it was a good thing he'd learned that lesson, because he'd have lost whatever he'd collected when the bad Grimm had kidnapped him. He hadn't had to worry about anything left behind.

He was going to need money, though, for clothes and toiletries and rent – no way was he going to live in this house without reimbursing Nick.

The thought of returning to clockmaking made him nauseous. His shaking hands aside, he wasn't sure that he still had the concentration, the care for detail anymore. Other than that, he didn't really have any marketable skills, because playing a cello - which he couldn't afford to buy in the first place - on the street for tips was not only a lame idea but also not a job. He'd have to come up with something fast.

He quickly handled things in the bathroom and headed toward the noises he'd heard.

He didn't use his cane down the stairs but took it with him just in case. He'd gotten pretty steady, but all it took was one moment of disorientation, and he was flat on his ass, an undignified position to say the least. Besides, he liked his cane. Nick had found it in the woods around Lidiya's home, trimmed off the excess branches, and sanded it somehow until it was smooth and solid in Monroe's hands.

He found Nick in the bare living room staring out at the woods.

"Hey," Nick said, turning around with an easy smile.

"Morning," Monroe said a little gruffly, uncertain how to act around the man who'd held him all night.

"So I ran out…."

Nick continued to talk, but Monroe's attention was diverted by the cup of coffee the Grimm was waving around as he spoke. "Is that coffee?"

Amused smile on his face, Nick asked, "Did you hear anything I just said?"

"Umm, you ran out, and you have coffee?" Monroe said hopefully.

Nick laughed. "On the island in the kitchen."

Beside the to-go cup, Monroe found a small pile of toiletries. First things first, he decided, taking a sip and closing his eyes as he welcomed the familiar taste.

"I know it's not one of your organic, specially-brewed-in-the-dark-jungles-of-Columbia brands, but I figured it could do in a pinch."

Monroe couldn't even remember the last time he'd actually drunk coffee, so at the moment, he was just thankful for the cup in his hands. "Thanks," he said after a few seconds. He opened his eyes and glanced curiously at the pile.

"What I'd said earlier was that I bought you a few things to tide you over. Figured we could go out for some breakfast and pick up some clothes and whatever else we need."

Feeling uncomfortable, Monroe cleared his voice. "I don't really have any money right now, but –"

"Actually, you do," Nick said, opening a drawer and pulling out a worn, brown leather wallet. "You left this in your car…"

Monroe took the wallet, the feel so familiar even after all this time. He felt pinpricks in his eyes and had to blink them away before opening it.

"I didn't touch anything in it other than using your ATM card," Nick said.

Monroe looked at him curiously, surprised to find Nick blushing slightly. "I forged your name on a power of attorney document so I could keep up with your money. You know, in case you ever needed it. Or something." Nick faltered uncertainly at the end, his eyes sliding away from Monroe's.

"Hey," Monroe said, reaching out a hand and grasping Nick's arm gently. "Thank you."

Monroe had been so upset, so desperate to get as far away from Portland and its memories that he'd pulled out his cash before tossing his wallet, phone, and keys in his bug and took the first bus he could afford out of town. And while no one had voluntarily sat beside him, no one had really looked at him and his sooty clothes twice. After that, he'd caught rides with truck drivers, showering in various truck stops or wiping himself down in gas station bathrooms. That time was all a bit of a haze for him, since he'd spent so much of it trying not to just walk in front of a truck and end it all.

Even now, he wasn't quite sure why he hadn't done it those first couple of days. He hadn't been able to sleep much, fought back tears that he knew would never stop if he'd gotten them started, and felt guilty for each painful breath.

And then he started to understand that his death wouldn't fix anything. Rosalee, Juliette, and Trubel would still be gone, he and Nick would still be alone, Nick would still hate him. In fact, it actually seemed a little cowardly to end his life. No, he deserved the pain of opening his eyes every morning with the knowledge of what he'd done. Living became the only way he could even attempt a penance that could never be assuaged.

He blinked, returning to the present, marveling at the fact that he now had something he'd thought he'd lost forever – Nick standing in front of him, smiling, his eyes soft.

They returned to the living room, gazing at the trees in silence as they finished their coffee.

As much as he would've liked a shower, Monroe just did the best he could using the washcloth Nick had bought him. Just the idea of getting clean to have to put on the clothes he'd been wearing for the past who knew how many days made him feel even dirtier. But he brushed his teeth, washed his face again, and put on the deodorant. He also took off the bandages on his fingertips. It was a little awkward, but he finally managed it by using his teeth. After staring down at his toes, he decided to keep those bandages, at least until he bought a larger pair of shoes. He then headed downstairs, his wallet in the back pocket where he'd kept it years ago.

They headed into town, Monroe surprised at how quickly they arrived.

"It feels like we're living in another world, but Hank was right. It's not really that much of a commute," Nick said before Monroe could even voice his surprise.

They stopped at a diner that Monroe didn't recall seeing before, and he wondered if he'd just never noticed it or if it'd popped up while he was gone. He shrugged, realizing that it didn't really matter, as he picked up the menu. Once he and Nick had placed their orders, Monroe asked, "So, what's the plan?"

"I figure the most important things to get right now are clothes and food," Nick said, absently playing with the paper from his straw. "My things are at the office, but we need to buy you some new stuff. Your driver's license expired while you were gone, so we can't get you a car until that's taken care of. I let your insurance lapse too."

Monroe nodded. No point in paying for something that wasn't being used. "So for right now, clothes and food."

They stared at each other in awkward silence. For the first time since their disastrous first meeting many years before, Monroe really felt uncomfortable around Nick. They knew each other too well for small talk (besides, they'd been in each other's pockets for the past couple of weeks), and anything else was too emotionally dangerous to get into in a diner.

Monroe searched his mind for anything remotely innocuous to talk about and was relieved when Nick's phone rang. He tossed Monroe an apologetic look as he answered.

"I'm sorry," the waitress said to Monroe as Nick spoke on the phone. "We haven't gotten our food shipment in for the day, so we don't have any of the vegetables for your dish except for onions."

Monroe sighed inwardly, welcoming himself back to civilization.

M

"I'm sorry to intrude on your first full day back, but I thought you'd want to know," Hank said apologetically.

"It's fine," Nick said, pulling out a pen and grabbing a napkin. It went unsaid that a Grimm's work was never done, and frankly, he'd been gone longer than he really should have been, leaving Portland open to all sorts of Wesen misbehavior. "Give me the address."

"We've already processed the place, and like I said, I'm not absolutely sure that it needs your particular expertise," Hank said, obviously surrounded by other people. "So you don't have to rush here. Finish eating, text me, and I'll meet you." He rattled off the address.

Nick repeated it for confirmation and said, "I'll see you in an hour, tops." He hung up just in time to watch Monroe slide from his side of the booth. "Where're you going?"

"I'll be right back. Just have to help out with something," Monroe said with a slight smile.

Nick frowned, curious, but relaxed as the waitress gave him a refill, shooting him a quick smile before following Monroe into… wait, was he going into the kitchen? Nick leaned forward, watching Monroe speaking to a kid Nick assumed was the cook. Monroe started waving his hands around, but Nick could tell from his gestures that he was getting worked up in an excited way, like he did when he was talking about his clocks. Shrugging, Nick took a sip of his coffee, snagged Monroe's napkin, and began making notes.

M

"…and then you just spread it on top of the brown rice, and voila!" Monroe said, dividing the apples and onion sauté onto three plates.

"That was so easy," Tony, the twenty-three year-old cook said, stunned. He took a bite from his plate. "And tasty!"

Monroe chuckled.

They'd had a moment at first when he realized that Tony was a Siegbarste, and Tony realized that Monroe was a Blutbad. It turned out that, like riding a bike, Monroe's fast-talking was something that couldn't be forgotten. He'd quickly explained that he was just there to help and that as far as he was concerned, they were just two dudes interested in making sure that none of the customers died of food poisoning.

After that, things got better, and Tony started opening up. Turned out his father, who owned the place, had forced him to take the cook's job after the previous one had quit in a huff. Monroe was getting the feeling that it was one of those paternal attempts to teach his son responsibility. Personally, he'd have started with a waiting job, but Monroe wasn't a father, so he decided he wasn't in a place to judge.

Until he realized that beyond burgers and fries – which were both still kind of iffy – Tony was totally out of his element. So Monroe showed him a few things like how to multitask as the two waitresses shot orders at them. He also gave the kid a quick course on how to make Apples and Onions, a simple vegetarian dish using their available herbs and some the few fresh foods he spotted while they waited for their shipment. Monroe would've preferred fresh herbs as well but considered himself lucky that they had what he needed at all, if only dried in bottles.

Brenda had to run over to greet a couple of new customers, and Tony took the time to lean in and whisper, "It's really tight back here. Sometimes I have a tough time concentrating on anything else."

Monroe nodded, remembering that Siegbarstes as a general rule didn't like feeling closed-in. "I know some breathing techniques that might be able to help…" He quickly ran through a brief breathing exercise and had time for Tony to try it a few times before Brenda returned with three new orders. After a panicked look from Tony, Monroe sighed, nudged Tony to the side, and threw a couple of hamburger patties on the grill.

Eventually, he handed the spatula back to Tony and grabbed his plate, leaving the kitchen as Brenda, his waitress, dug into the plate Monroe had made for her.

"Sorry about that," Monroe said, sliding back into his seat and putting down his plate. "The poor kid –" He stopped, staring at Nick's empty plate. "How long was I back there?"

"About twenty minutes," Nick said, taking a sip of his water.

"Man, I'm sorry," Monroe muttered.

"No, it was interesting watching you work," Nick said with a smile. "Kind of like getting a show with my meal."

Monroe grinned, digging into his food. He hadn't realized he was so hungry, and Tony was right; he did make a mean Apples and Onions.

Nick pushed a napkin over to Monroe. "So I made a list of everything I could think of that you probably want to do over the next few days. I'm sure you're going to have more you want to add and probably some you want to take off, but I figured it was a good starting point." He tilted his head toward Monroe's hands. "How are the fingers?"

Monroe had been trying to avoid looking at his hands. His fingertips looked strange without nails, and he could tell that Tony had been aching to ask what had happened when he noticed them as Monroe washed his hands before starting to cook. He shrugged, striving for nonchalance. "They don't really hurt; they're just really, really sensitive."

"You think they're going to grow back?"

Monroe paused, his fork in midair. "I hope so." He didn't say anything about the fact that he hadn't been able to tamp into his Blutbad self, because he just couldn't go there. Saying it out loud made it real.


	10. Chapter 10

Nick watched Monroe scarf down his apple mixture thing over rice. He wasn't surprised, considering Monroe really hadn't been eating well since they'd rescued him, and he'd gone to bed without dinner the night before. Monroe's brow knitted as he reviewed the list Nick had created.

Nick took the time to look over at the cook, who looked a little flustered but kept shooting glances over at their booth. The kid woged, and Nick gave a little hum of interest. "What's the deal with the Siegbarste kid behind the grill?"

"Oh, Tony?" Monroe said absently. "His dad owns the place, and when his cook quit, the guy figured he could kill two birds with one stone: give his kid some direction and not have to find a cook with some actual experience."

"It was nice watching you work your magic in the kitchen again," Nick teased. In truth, he'd been impressed. He'd watched Monroe accepting incoming orders, cooking up the food as he showed the kid step by step how to handle each one. And evidently he worked in the time to make his own dish. "And I don't recall seeing that apple… thing on the menu."

"Apples and Onions."

"Apples and Onions," Nick repeated, glad he'd stuck with his burger.

"No, it's good. Here." Monroe turned the fork containing the last of his food toward Nick.

"Thanks, but I'm good." Nick patted his stomach. "Huge burger, lots of fries…"

Monroe's eyes narrowed. "Try it."

Nick really wasn't a fan of the whole combination. "Really, I'm –" In one blink, Monroe's playful expression closed down, and he became that stranger Nick had faced in Lidiya's bedroom. " – ready," he said, opening his mouth.

Monroe blinked again, uncertainty in his eyes, and Nick wondered if Monroe had always been this easy to read. He tried to remember, but it was difficult to move past the emotional events that had led them here. Nick closed his lips around the fork, tasting the sweetness of the apples wrapping around the sharpness of the onions. It was actually really, very good. He closed his eyes briefly, before opening them up and watching a rapt Monroe reclaim his fork.

Suddenly it was just the two of them, their eyes on each other. Nick could swear he could hear the thud of Monroe's heart beating in time with his. It was all mixed up, the flavors still on his tongue, the heat coming from Monroe, the longing from within.

The drum of his phone on the table drew them from… whatever moment they'd just shared. With an effort, Nick pulled his eyes away and answered.

"Hey, man. I figured I'd check on you, see if you were ready to meet up."

Nick mouthed, "Hank" to Monroe before saying, "We just finished eating." He felt his face grow warm and was glad Hank wasn't actually there. He knew Nick way too well.

"Okay. See you soon."

Nick hung up, pulling out his wallet.

"I got it," Monroe said, his wallet already open, his eyes searching for the waitress, his own cheeks a little flushed.

Nick filed the moment away to ponder when he had more time as he shoved his phone into his jacket.

"It's on us, Monroe," the waitress said, smiling at him. "Tony's already handling things back there faster." She leaned forward, her voice dipping. "We're still recommending the burgers and fries to everyone, although that apple thing was really good, even if it didn't have any meat in it."

"Brenda, you don't have to do that," Monroe protested.

"It's been hell here this morning," she admitted. "He's been slow, and his cooking…" she shuddered. "At least it's faster now."

"Well, thanks, then." Monroe said, smiling at her.

She twirled her hair around a finger and tilted her head coyly as she said, "You just need to come back, maybe give him some refreshers from time to time."

"He'll get the hang of it," Monroe said, totally oblivious. "He's a smart kid, and he's got you two to help him out."

"I still hope we see you again," Brenda said, leaning forward to take their plates. She bared a little cleavage, but Monroe's attention had already wandered.

"So Hank needs you?"

"Yeah," Nick said, watching Brenda almost run into a table because she was too focused on Monroe. He had to hold back a smile as he looked back at Monroe. "He has a crime scene that's a little wonky. Wants me to come check it out. You can come with me if you want."

"No," Monroe shook his head, disturbed.

Nick didn't understand the reaction but knew that this wasn't the right time to get into it. "Want me to drop you off at the mall so you can get some clothes?"

Monroe shuddered as Nick dropped a five and three ones on the table.

Chuckling, Nick followed Monroe out to the car.

"What'd I say?"

"A mall? Really?"

"Well, I don't know where to find the local plaids-r-us," Nick said, laughing.

Monroe grumbled. "Just drop me off a little further into town."

Nick followed Monroe's directions, glad for his multitasking skills. Otherwise, he would've missed Monroe's frown as the Blutbad realized that the city had changed a lot during his absence. He wouldn't have noticed Monroe casually hiding his hands when they started shaking or the wince when Nick suspected that Monroe's unprotected nail beds rubbed against his scratchy jeans.

He pulled over where Monroe directed, rolling down his window and waiting until the Blutbad had crossed around the front of the car to the sidewalk. "Monroe!" He called.

Monroe walked over to him.

He handed out his phone. "We're gonna have to get together at some point, and you don't have a phone. Just call Hank when you're ready. He's speed dial 2."

Gingerly, Monroe took the phone like it was going to bite him if he weren't careful. "What if you finish first?"

Nick grinned at him. "Then we'll call you. We know the number."

M

Monroe watched Nick merge effortlessly into traffic and huffed a laugh as he stared down at Nick's phone. He wasn't sure why it felt so personal. "It's just a phone," he growled to himself as he shoved it in his jacket pocket and looked around to get his bearings.

He'd expected the city to have changed in the time he'd been gone. Stores closed and opened all the time. But either the city had moved forward at a much more rapid pace than he'd thought or the bad Grimm had shaken up a lot more in Monroe's noggin than he'd realized.

Grounding himself, he headed over to his first stop, the first one on his mental list and one that Nick hadn't even thought about, strangely enough: the bank.

He'd had to walk bit after that to try to wrap his head around how much money he had in his accounts.

Because of his clockwork skill, Monroe had been able to charge quite a fee for his services, and while he tended to fuel his body with the more expensive items – organic food and drink tended to cost more than ones filled with dangerous chemicals, go figure – he didn't really live a lavish lifestyle. So he'd walked away from a fair amount of money. What he hadn't considered was that someone would want to buy the lot of ash that had been his house and that they'd be willing to pay so much for it. It had also never occurred to him that Nick would close up his existing accounts and open two: one that had made him quite a penny in interest that he wasn't going to be able to access for a little while and one that still contained a hefty chunk with funds available immediately with the debit card that Nick had received on Monroe's behalf. While he was there, Monroe started to order checks – because yeah, he was that guy who would take out his checkbook from time to time – but then he realized that he didn't know his new address.

He created a new mental list of things he was beginning to realize he needed to know about his new situation and sighed. He hated these kinds of conversations.

Now that he had a better idea of the kind of money he was working with, he adjusted the order of his plans and headed down the street.

M

Nick stepped over the crime scene tape and walked over to Hank, who was leaning against his car at the curb.

"What do you think?"

Nick looked back at the house. "I'm not getting any Wesen vibes from there. I think it's just a really sick human."

"Think we should see if Monroe will come through, use that sniffer of his?"

Nick shook his head. "He's not up to it yet." He didn't want to explain that Monroe didn't seem to be able to woge or even tap into his inner wolf anymore, especially since it was something that Nick only knew because of how closely he watched Monroe, not because Monroe had chosen to share. Besides, wasn't Nick's secret to tell.

Hank shook his head, sighing. "I don't know whether to be relieved or disappointed."

"Well, this case doesn't seem to be any of my business, so I'm relieved."

Hank stared at him silently for a few seconds, a small smile on his face.

"What? Something on my face?" Nick swiped at his cheeks.

"You're happy."

Nick was expecting Hank to wipe a crumb off his cheek or point out a stain on his shirt, not the bizarre comment thrown his way. "Come again?"

"You're happy," Hank repeated. "After – well, after, you just kind of closed yourself off. And while you got a little better as time went on, you rarely smiled. You had this, I don't know, determination, this weight hanging off you. But today you seem lighter." He smiled. "I'm not gonna lie; I was worried about this whole Monroe thing. But somehow the two of you fit, just like you fit before."

"Uh, thanks?" Nick said, huffing out a laugh.

Hank's smile widened. "You're welcome."

"Did Monroe call? I gave him my phone since he doesn't have one of his own yet and told him to call you."

Hank shook his head. "Not yet. I have to head back, work this thing since you won't take it off my hands."

"Let me use your phone for sec, coordinate with Monroe." Nick reached out his hand and made a grabbing motion, and in seconds, Nick was waiting for Monroe to pick up. Frowning when he got his own voice mail, he hung up and tried again. He started to get worried when his voice mail picked up a second time. Resolved to activate the GPS if Monroe didn't pick up, he tried a final time.

Monroe answered after the second ring, his voice shouting from a distance. "Hello? Hang on! Hold on a second!" A few fumbling seconds later, and Monroe said, "Hello? Nick? Hank?"

It was like Monroe had never used a phone before. "Monroe? What are you doing?"

"Sorry. It's been a while, and I'd forgotten I had your phone. I heard it ringing and had to find it. The second time I dropped it –"

"Wow. We gonna have to practice when we get home?"

A sigh. "Man, give me a break. It's been, like, two years, and I've been back for less than twenty-four hours."

Suddenly Nick grew concerned. Maybe after being alone for so long, being back in Portland was too much too soon. Nick should've stayed with him. He should've made Monroe come with him and just wait in the car, then they could've run errands together.

Monroe seemed to read his mind. "Nick, I'm fine. I may not have a handle on the phone thing, but otherwise, it's all good. Are you going to need to work with Hank tonight?"

"This looks like one very disturbed human being, so Hank and Wu are on their own. I just need to run by my office and pick up my stuff. How are you doing?"

"I'm okay."

Nick found himself comforted by the fact that Monroe still couldn't lie worth a damn. He sounded exhausted. "How about I pick you up, we head over to the office so I can pick up my stuff, and then we stop by the store on our way home?"

"We also need to figure out what we're going to feed Hank and Wu for dinner."

"Right! Dinner."

"We're not gonna be able to make it," Hank said, tilting his head toward the house.

"I just handed the case right back to them, so they're going to have to take a rain check," Nick said, smiling at Monroe's barely audible sigh of relief. He knew that Monroe liked the two men; it was just that he needed more time to get back into the swing of things. After all, he'd created a pretty isolated life for himself in Alaska before becoming kidnapped and living in more isolation in a cage. Nick cursed himself for not thinking of it before.

"Seriously, Nick. I'm a little tired, but otherwise, I'm fine. Look, I'm not quite finished yet. Why don't you go grab your stuff, and then we can meet up and buy some dishes."

"Dishes," Nick repeated, a little confused.

"Utensils, plates, cups… the things civilized people use to contain and eat food?" Monroe's worried tone made it obvious that he was picturing Nick using his fingers to eat food out of a box for the past few years.

"What I meant was, do we have to make it a thing?" He ignored Hank's grin.

Monroe sighed. "A thing."

"Yeah. It's just, you know, stuff."

"It's stuff that you're going to use everyday."

"What I mean is, a fork's a fork, right?"

Another sigh, this one filled with _nobody knows the trouble I've seen_ drama. "Actually, balance is important. Some people like –"

"Monroe."

" – a heavier utensil, while other people like them a little lighter. And then there're the tines –"

"Monroe!"

"What?"

"Since you're obviously an expert in… tongs and stuff, why don't you choose all of that?"

"But – "

"Keep the receipts, and I'll reimburse you."

"It's not about the money, Nick. It's about making sure you get the right –"

"I trust you."

"But I don't know – "

"Monroe. I trust you."

Nick wasn't sure if Monroe's huff contained frustration, embarrassment, or a little of both. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Just get whatever you think is best."

"But are you sure?" Monroe's hesitation made Nick smile.

"Absolutely."

"And the dishes and cups…"

"The dishes and the cups too." Nick had to press his lips together to keep from laughing with Hank.

"Okay, then. That means I'll need a little more time."

"I'll go through my messages at work, maybe call a few people back before heading out of the office. How about we meet in two hours?"

Nick could swear he could hear Monroe thinking hard before he said, "Two hours works. That should give me enough time."

"Are you sure?"

"Two hours," Monroe repeated, fatigue coloring his voice.

Nick suddenly felt guilty, the urge to see Monroe _now_ , to make sure he was okay. He wanted to ask about the shaking, but he could barely bring it up when they were alone, much less over the phone with Hank standing right beside him. "You know what? How about we just pick up some plastic tonight –"

There was no mistaking Monroe's gasp of outrage.

"Monroe," Nick said, "you said you were tired. We can go buy all that stuff tomorrow."

"I'm right outside the store. Let me just get it all now."

"Are you sure? I can't help but feel that I'm kind of giving you –"

"What is that? Is that the power button?"

"Don't you turn off that phone!"

"Then stop talking stupid."

"Fine," Nick sighed, smiling. "I'll call you once I've packed up the car. I don't have a lot of stuff, so it shouldn't take that long."

"Sounds good."

Nick was about to hang up when he heard Monroe shout, "Wait!" He brought the phone back to his ear. "I have one more question."

"Shoot," Nick said, digging the keys out of his pocket. There was a pause, sparking Nick's curiosity.

"What's our address?"

Nick would've laughed if he hadn't needed to get the information from Hank.

Two hours later, he sat at a red light, watching Monroe waiting for him down the street on a bench, bags surrounding him like a homeless person who'd lost his grocery cart. Unlike the constant motion he'd been in years before, Monroe now sat perfectly still, hands resting on his thighs, staring unseeingly in front of him. The sight saddened Nick, who absently drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he tried to come up with something to take their minds off of everything, if only for a little while. The light turned green, and he pulled in front of Monroe, having to honk the horn to get the Blutbad's attention.

"Sorry," Monroe said as he placed all of the bags in the back and got into the car. He offered Nick his phone back. "I bought my own."

Nick shook his head. "Since you've got it, why don't you program your new phone number into my speed dial."

Monroe held the phone so far away it almost touched the dash. "I barely knew how to answer your phone when it rang," he grumbled.

"I'll talk you through it."

"Fine," Monroe said. "What number am I gonna be? Seven? No, you don't know that many people well enough."

"Funny." Nick said dryly. "You're number one."

He felt more than saw Monroe pause. "Really?"

"Yeah." He didn't mention that he'd never deleted Monroe's number or that Monroe had been at the top of the list since about a month into their friendship when he'd had to buy a replacement for the one a Klaustreich had crushed under his feet. At the time, he'd justified it because he knew Juliette and Hank's numbers by heart and figured he'd probably need to access Monroe's quickly in times of crisis. He talked Monroe through programming Monroe's new number into his phone and then said, as he pulled into the grocery store parking lot, "You have a lot of bags there. How many flannel shirts and vests do you really need?"

Monroe glared at him. "For your information, I also bought the dishes and a really nice coffee maker and some organic coffee that I couldn't resist."

Making a mental note to leave his old coffee maker in the trunk so he could take it back to the office, Nick led the way into the store.

By the time they emerged, pushing two filled carts, Nick felt like he'd survived a battle that he wasn't sure if he'd won. He'd thought they'd go in, get some staples and a few things for dinner and maybe breakfast and lunch the next day. In and out in maybe an hour, tops. Turned out, his idea of staples and Monroe's were completely different. He'd planned on grabbing a few frozen dinners, maybe some canned soup and chips – he should've remembered who was walking beside him. Monroe needed all sorts of spices and fruits and vegetables, silently making a face at what he seemed to consider the lack of organic options.

Evidently they'd hit pay dirt in one of the aisles when Monroe gasped and grabbed Nick's arm. "They have forbidden rice!" Nick thought Monroe's head was going to explode when he added, almost reverently, " _organic_ forbidden rice!" He scooped the dark rice into one of the plastic bags provided, explaining, "The legend goes that it got its name because only Chinese emperors were allowed to eat it. It's high in iron, vitamin E, and it contains more antioxidants than blueberries!"

Nick wasn't really up on his antioxidants, but he nodded. It was like watching the old Monroe, the one who got excited over really strange stuff. Nick had missed him, and if he had to stand there and listen to Monroe waxing poetic about how this forbidden rice had a similar "nutty" taste to brown rice, then he would do it gladly.

It didn't mean he was going to eat the stuff, though.

He pushed his key in the ignition, turning to find Monroe's head back, his eyes closed. He reached out and pressed his hand against Monroe's forehead. "Checking for a fever," he explained when Monroe tossed him a questioning look, although that was a bit of a lie. He'd just wanted to reach out and touch, and he was having a difficult time controlling that part of his urges.

"I'm okay," Monroe said, "just maybe overdid it a little."

"You should've let me pack the car," Nick said, referring to Monroe's insistence that he help Nick put the groceries into the trunk and backseat.

"You have no respect for delicate fruits and vegetables," Monroe grumbled, opening his eyes briefly. "My artichokes would've been bruised."

"Ugh," Nick said, removing his hand and starting the car. "Artichokes are nasty."

"Not the way I make them," Monroe said instantly, his tone so mild that it sounded like pure fact.

Nick added something else to his mental not-to-eat list, glad he'd ignored Monroe's sighs as he'd tossed chips into his basket.

"And next time, I pay," he remembered to add.

Monroe hummed. "You bought the house; you're driving the car. I paid for some food," he said like they were keeping score.

"I needed some place to live too," Nick pointed out.

"And I need to eat too," Monroe countered. "Besides, you already had somewhere to live. Sure, it sounds like a hovel, but you were fine with it."

Nick didn't want to explain how he had just been treading water, how the room with his stuff shoved in boxes was his way of existing, not living. But now that Monroe was back, he suddenly remembered what it was like to have more, and that room wasn't going to cut it anymore. It sounded too desperate, like he was relying on his friend for happiness. He supposed that was a little bit true, but Monroe didn't need to know about that. "We'll have to sit down and come up with some sort of… division," he decided. "Let me figure out what Hank did with all my money while I was gone first."

"Sure," Monroe said, using a tone that Nick knew meant that Monroe was going to do his best to impart what he considered his fair share until they'd ironed out a clear agreement.

A few minutes of silence later, Nick spotted a takeout Chinese place, and after a quick glance to confirm that Monroe was asleep, Nick made an executive decision. He placed the hot food in the trunk and was pulling into the driveway when Monroe sighed and stretched.

"So you think we're ever going to have to close those?" Monroe asked as they passed through the open wrought-iron gate.

"I hope not," Nick muttered, pulling up to the house. "Look, your hands are still healing, and you just passed out on the way here. Let me unload the car." He saw Monroe's mulish look and added, "besides, you know if you leave it up to me, I'll unpack all this stuff, and you won't be able to find it until you have to follow the smell of rotting food."

That did it, although Monroe insisted on carrying two bags with him as they entered the house. After that, they got into a rhythm with Nick carrying the bags into the house and Monroe putting everything away. Nick started with the groceries, then brought in his stuff – remembering to bypass the coffee machine – and then Monroe's never-ending bags. He'd dropped the non-food, non-kitchen items in the empty living room and left Monroe excitedly pawing through his purchases while Nick made the final run to the car for the Chinese food.

"We just bought all this food," Monroe complained when he sniffed the air.

"Yeah, but neither one of us is in the mood to cook tonight," Nick said, knowing full well that it would've been Monroe to man the stove.

Monroe's look expressed the same sentiment, and after a second, he sighed. "Yeah. Thanks." He brightened and bent down, picking up a box of….dishware. "And I found the perfect plates! They were on sale." He continued extolling the virtues of the off-white, square plates and the utensils and cups he'd purchased as they moved back into the kitchen, his shoulders relaxing once he seemed to realize that Nick approved. Again they settled into a comfortable routine, Nick using the box cutter he always kept handy to open the boxes while Monroe washed a plate and fork for each of them, leaving the rest of the dishes and utensils in the sink. Nick pushed the brown rice and vegetarian dishes he'd remembered that Monroe had liked toward the Blutbad, keeping the white rice and general Tso's chicken for himself.

Taking their plates, they walked into the living room and sat on the floor, facing one of the windows. They ate silently, the occasional sound of metal scraping against plate the only sound in the room.

They finished, setting aside their plates and leaning back against their hands, their ankles crossed.

"We're really going to have to get some furniture," Nick finally said.

"And curtains," Monroe added with a smile. "Oh, and also? You're gonna have to mark your entire property."


	11. Chapter 11

After dumping the bags of his personal items off in his room and saying an awkward goodnight with Nick, Monroe slowly climbed down the stairs feeling like he was ninety years old. He was tired of the nightmares and worried that he would become too dependent on Nick to chase them away. As it was, having Nick in his bed had felt a little too right, made him want things he knew he couldn't have.

He'd loaded the dishwasher first with the new dishes and cutlery, later with the pots and pans. He still needed to get a skillet, but that was a task for another day. He set up the kitchen the way he liked it, knowing Nick wouldn't be afraid to speak up if anything bothered him. Of course, he also knew that Nick's main focus would be on the location of the coffeepot, whose timer Monroe was currently setting, so he wasn't really worried.

Following that, he'd opened the door, thinking he'd take a short walk. But the total darkness gave him pause. He'd lived far enough from civilization in Alaska that he was familiar with it, but that had been before, while he was still whole. Now he was uncertain – about what was out there and about his ability to protect himself. It wasn't a feeling he was used to, and he didn't like it at all. But still, he couldn't seem to force himself to walk outside. So he shut the door, set the alarm, and returned upstairs. He folded and placed everything in neat piles along the wall before finally sitting on his bed, exhausted. He wanted to just let his body tilt and fall asleep, but he could almost feel the nightmare hovering behind him, phantom hands on his shoulders, its nails digging into his chest…

Leaping to his feet, he changed into sweats and a t-shirt, thick socks protecting his toes, and headed back downstairs. He wandered from empty room to empty room, hands clutching at his hair. Part of him wanted to go upstairs and lie down beside Nick, knowing that being around his friend would put these disturbing images and panicky feelings at bay.

But he couldn't do that. He had to find some other way to handle it.

Finally, in desperation, he began to stretch, his mind reaching back to his daily Pilates exercises, dusting off the memories and relying on his body's ability to reclaim its sense memory.

Eventually he lay on the floor, sweaty and shaking, each breath a little painful. Maybe he'd overdone it, but it had felt nice to just stop thinking and focus on each breath, each movement.

By the time he'd come to standing and had wiped his sweat off the floor, Monroe realized it was almost six o'clock in the morning. He barely made it to his bedroom before falling across the bed, instantly asleep.

Now he sat on the floor in the kitchen, leaning against the island. Cup of coffee in one hand, he read the note Nick had left by the coffee machine.

"Meeting with Hank early this morning to find out how he spent all my money." Monroe smiled at the surprised emoticon following the sentence. "I'll bring back breakfast. Don't worry; I remember what you like. Use one of the notepads on the counter to write down everything else you can think of that we need. See you soon. N."

Monroe stared at the paper, eyes roaming over Nick's handwriting. For the first time, he allowed himself to feel the pain of losing his best friend two years ago. The loss and the guilt washed over him, tears spearing his eyes as he relieved the feeling of being alone. He'd been like a closed door, intentionally keeping himself apart from everyone before he'd met Nick, but Nick had forced his way through that door and into Monroe's life, ushering in light and happiness and friends who'd become family. Because of Nick, Monroe began to ease out of his shell; because of Nick, Monroe'd found Rosalee.

And then faster than the flick of a lighter, the door splintered in a hail of fire and ash, and they were all gone – Juliette, Rosalee, Troubel, and even Nick in his own way. Once again, he'd been alone, but this time was so much worse, because he'd had so much to lose.

Warm liquid soaking through his sweats brought him back to the present, and he cursed under his breath when he realized that his shaking hands had spilled the coffee all over his lap. He tried to push himself up, his underused muscles complaining about the long workout he'd given himself earlier that morning. After a couple of aborted attempts – and an embarrassing slip on the spilt coffee – he managed to haul himself upright.

After a trip upstairs to change, and to grab a sweater, he diverted to the kitchen to clean and to pour himself a second cup of coffee before sitting outside with one of the three empty notepads and a pen. Less than ten minutes later, he was finished. A dark part of him was amused at his about face – four years ago, he'd had so much stuff that his _stuff_ had stuff. Clocks and tchotchkes littered every available surface; he had multitude of trunks in the attic sorted by holiday. But now he realized how… useless it had been. In no time at all, everything had been reduced to ash. So what was the point of really caring about stuff if it could all just simply disappear?

He heard a key in the lock and smiled at Nick's tentative steps toward the kitchen.

"I'm outside," he called.

Nick's head popped out the open door. "I thought you might still be sleeping."

Shaking his head, Monroe asked, "What time is it?"

Nick blinked. "I think that's the first time I've ever heard you ask that."

Monroe shrugged, unwilling to talk about his lack of desire in that area.

"It's eight twelve," Nick said. His eyes fell to the yellow notepad lying beside Monroe. "Great, you got my note! "I'll be right back." His head disappeared, and he returned a few minutes later balancing the other two notepads, a couple of bags, and a cup of coffee. Standing across from Monroe, he presented his gifts with a flourish. "I promised breakfast: mixed fruit – organic from MOM's, and – "

Monroe recognized the familiar bag. "Is that a Sweetpea bag you have in front of you?"

M

Nick smiled at Monroe's excitement. He knew they'd just bought all of those groceries, but he found himself wanting to surprise Monroe, to see the excited look on the Blutbad's face. Nick even admitted to himself that he liked being the one who did it. Plopping the bag beside the fruit, he said, "I figured this would be a good way to start the day."

"What'd you buy me?" Monroe pulled out the pastry and took a bite, missing Nick's worried look. Normally, Monroe would've smelled the morning bun and the peach coffee cake Nick had gotten himself before Nick had even made it inside. "Mmm," Monroe gushed, eyes closing in ecstasy, making Nick promptly forget about what he was thinking so he could focus all his attention on Monroe's pleasure.

After a few seconds, Monroe returned to the present, frowning up at Nick. "Why're you just standing there? Sit down. Eat."

Nick dropped to the floor and pulled out his coffee cake. He took a large bite and closed his own eyes for a second. He hadn't indulged like this in years, sticking with the coffee he'd grown used to drinking when he was still a cop. He could buy it in any grocery store and didn't have to think about Monroe every time he drained a cup. And now here he was, sitting in what he considered their home, once again drinking the good stuff and eating something that hadn't been processed, packaged, and shipped.

"So, how'd it go this morning with Hank? You still have a couple of coins to rub together?"

Nick smiled. It had taken them about ten minutes to wake up enough to be able to focus on the paperwork. Hank and Wu had worked the case the night before until they'd called a time out, and Hank'd stumbled home for about three hours sleep before meeting Nick at a diner near the station. Nick had spent the night in his empty bed listening to Monroe try to work himself into exhaustion. He'd wanted to force his friend into the bed and climb in behind him so they could both get some rest. He'd have probably done it without thought before, but now he hesitated, unsure of his place in Monroe's life. They hadn't talked about what had happened the night before. He didn't want to push, but he knew they both slept better when they were together. Instead of saying anything, he just lay there, silently hurting for his friend.

Refocusing on Monroe's question, Nick said, "I'm actually in good shape. Evidently, it's a buyer's market right now, and the owners had been trying to sell this for months. So Hank got a pretty good deal." He shrugged. "I sold the other house a while back and got a good deal on it, investing most of the money. As long as I don't go crazy and continue to work, I should be able to make the monthly mortgage payments without a problem. I haven't really been using much of the money I've been making, so there's also a fair amount for furniture and stuff."

"Right. You've been living in a room in your office." Monroe made a face.

Nick shrugged a shoulder, taking a sip of Monroe's heavenly coffee. He shuffled so he could lean comfortably against the wooden railing and still face Monroe. He'd kicked off his shoes toward the door and curled his sock-clad toes against the cold wood. "I didn't need anything else at the time." He knew if he explained how he couldn't bear to stay in the home he and Juliette made and how the idea of trying to create one for just himself was incomprehensible that Monroe would feel guilty, and it really wasn't his fault. It had never been Monroe's fault.

Monroe stared at his fruit cup, absently picking at it with his fork. Nick could tell he wanted to ask what had changed, but they both knew it had been Monroe's return. Clearly, Monroe wasn't ready for that conversation.

To be honest, Nick wasn't ready for it either, at least not now that he was running on fumes. Changing the subject, he pointed to Monroe's notepad. "How's the list coming?"

"I'm finished," Monroe said, handing it over. "I wasn't sure how detailed you wanted me to get."

In truth, Nick had hoped that Monroe would've written down color schemes, specific furniture ideas, anything that would show he was beginning to feel like this was his house too. Nick knew Monroe hadn't forgotten that he'd only promised to stay here temporarily; Nick was angling for something a little more permanent, and he knew how tied Monroe was with the stuff in his home.

He couldn't help the frown that settled over his face when he saw the small list with lines like "living room furniture" on them. He'd hoped that at least Monroe would've come up with an extensive list for the myriad of kitchen appliances that Nick loved to tease him about – but yet fully appreciated when Monroe used them. All he could find was a line for a crockpot and one for drying mats. "That's it?"

"That's all we really need. I bought a few pots and pans yesterday with the dishes. Maybe a skillet." Monroe continued to avoid Nick's eyes.

Nick couldn't help but get the feeling that it was more than just Monroe not wanting to put down roots. "I was prepared to see a list pulled directly from the Williams- Sonoma catalog," he said, only partly joking. He hadn't been sure what to expect, but he knew he'd been hoping for something like that.

"It's just stuff," Monroe said, staring into the woods, a pensive look on his face.

"The living room has an echo. We need stuff."

Monroe sighed. "There's no point in buying something like a pizza maker when we can just make do with what we have."

"But it's worth it when you consider how much we love pizza." Nick stretched out his leg and nudged Monroe's hip with his foot, earning him a glare from the Blutbad.

"It's just more one more thing to keep track of."

And that's when Nick heard the unspoken, "that we could lose", and it all made sense. Monroe had lost everything when his house had burned down, all of his family mementos, his pictures. All of the Christmas and Halloween decorations that he'd lovingly put up every year – gone. No wonder he wasn't interested in getting new things that could end up just as destroyed one day.

Nick couldn't really say anything, since he had a filled storage unit he'd never visited. He slid over to sit beside Monroe, ducking his head until he caught the Blutbad's eyes. "How about we just worry about the necessities, okay?" He took a small breath before continuing. "I actually still have the furniture from my old house, but I don't –" He had to take a moment to gather his thoughts. "This is a new house; I want to fill it with new memories."

M

Monroe smiled, not trying very hard to hide his relief. He wasn't ready to discuss why he wasn't excited about filling up Nick's house but had to give Nick credit for putting some of his own issues out there. "Maybe you should get an interior designer –"

Nick was shaking his head before Monroe could even finish. "I don't want a showplace. I want to walk through the front doors, kick off my shoes, and drop onto a sofa. I want a place that feels like a home."

Monroe almost said that the one thing he'd learned was that home wasn't the stuff that filled it. Home to him now was Nick. Instead he asked, "What kind of furniture do you have in mind?" He could tell immediately that Nick had no idea.

"Umm, comfortable?"

Rolling his eyes, Monroe took a forkful of fruit and shoved it into Nick's mouth, ignoring the muffled protest. "You know you need the fruit," he muttered before returning to the subject at hand. "Maybe we should just go to Goodwill or the Salvation Army –"

"For once, I want to buy something new, something comfortable that will fit both of us. I want to be able to point out a sofa and then get it in whatever color I want."

"You don't even know what furniture you want, but you're ready to choose the colors?" Monroe couldn't help teasing before adding more seriously, "I'd suggest searching for ideas on the Internet, but we don't have that yet." He pointed toward the notepad still in Nick's hand. "Flip to the next page."

In addition to the small list on the first page, Monroe had created a list consisting of services needed, like cable and the Internet.

"I already have the Internet at work; I bet we can get some sort of package deal to add what we need here to the bill." Nick pulled his phone out of his pocket and immediately called the company, setting up the earliest available appointment in two days – after whispering to Monroe to confirm that Monroe would be available and adding Monroe's name to the account. That absolutely didn't give Monroe an unexpected warmth in his chest. "That's one thing – no two things – down." Nick pulled a pen from behind his ear and scratched off the two items with a flourish. "But we do need to get some furniture soon," he said, shifting again. "My ass is getting tired of the floors in this place, Pergo be damned."

Monroe rolled his eyes, smiling faintly.

"We need at least a sofa, a few chairs, and a couple of dressers for our bedrooms." He added a television and DVD player to his list. "Why don't we start with that? Oh, and some furniture for out here. I have the feeling we're going to be out here a lot."

"It _is_ nice," Monroe agreed.

Nick's phone rang, and he threw Monroe an apologetic look as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, standing with a small groan and leaning against the rail.

Wanting to give Nick at least some semblance of privacy, Monroe focused on his fruit salad. As soon as the strawberry exploded in his mouth – and seriously, where did they get strawberries in February? – Monroe groaned and closed his eyes, focused on the bright, fresh taste. How had he gone for so long without this? Most of his meals in Alaska consisted of meat – he'd had to give up his vegetarian ways out of necessity – with maybe a few veggies here and there. And then later… later they'd tossed drugged chunks of meat through the bars at him. He'd somehow buried memories of the delight in feeling a grape burst in his mouth, its delicate texture sliding against his tongue…

He opened his eyes when he heard his fork scrape against plastic, frowning as he looked down at the empty container. He looked up to find Nick staring at him, large grin on his face. "What?" Monroe asked, snatching up one of the napkins and wiping self-consciously at his beard.

"You were just enjoying the hell out of that fruit," Nick said, laughing quietly.

"Yeah, well, it's been a while," Monroe muttered.

Nick's face fell, and Monroe found he missed the smile more than the fruit. "I think that was the best fruit cup I've ever had," he said, happy once he'd brought a small smile back to Nick's face.

Waving the phone in his hand, Nick said, "I have an appointment at three with a bail bondsman I work with." He suddenly looked exhausted.

"You look like you're about to fall over. Why don't you go take a nap?" Monroe suggested, worried. Truth be told, he could probably close his eyes and fall asleep right where he sat, but there was the whole nightmare thing to consider, so…

Nick said, "You're not looking so bright eyed and bushy tailed yourself."

Rolling his eyes at Nick's choice of phrase, Monroe admitted, "Yeah, I didn't sleep much last night."

M

Nick absently ran a weary hand over his face. "Yeah, I heard," he said, immediately regretting his words when he saw a flash of guilt pass over Monroe's face. "Why don't we both take a nap?" He saw Monroe start to shake his head and added, "You're not going to do yourself any good if you don't allow your body to heal." He reached down, his hand open and inviting, knowing that Monroe's acceptance would mean more to him than it probably should. He blamed the sentimentality on his fatigue and focused on Monroe.

Sighing, Monroe took his hand and groaned as he rose. Nick took a second longer to enjoy the warmth of Monroe's large hand enveloping his own before he let go and led the way up the stairs. They parted at the top and went into their respective rooms, and after he set the alarm on his phone, Nick lay down on the bed, suddenly wide awake. His mind still felt fuzzy, but he just didn't feel… settled. They'd both left their doors open, so he could clearly hear Monroe shifting, and suddenly something in his mind snapped. He chucked off his jeans, replacing them with a comfortable pair of sweats, and shuffled over to Monroe's room, knocking on the doorframe once but not waiting for a response before entering the room.

"Nick?" Monroe asked, sitting up.

"This is stupid. Scoot over."

With barely a moment's hesitation, Monroe shifted, and Nick lay down beside him. Immediately, his body seemed to lose all tension when he felt Monroe's heat beside him. They lay there side by side, silently and awkwardly, until Nick rolled his eyes at them both, turned to his side, and wrapped his arm around Monroe's waist. Angling his head so it rested in the crook of Monroe's neck, he whispered, "Go to sleep."

The last thing he remembered before sleep took him was Monroe's shuddering breath as he sighed and pressed his hand against Nick's arm.

The sound of the alarm on his phone gradually pulled Nick back into consciousness. He listened to it get continuously louder from his bedroom, but he was comfortable and didn't particularly want to move yet. At some point, Monroe had turned toward him, hugging him close. Nick had shoved one leg between Monroe's, and was gripping Monroe's t-shirt in a fist between them. Having Monroe draped over him was a little strange, but it was a good kind of strange, one that he found he wanted to get used to feeling. He liked Monroe's heat surrounding him, the puff of Monroe's breath in his ear.

He knew exactly when Monroe was awake enough to realize that he'd practically wrapped himself around Nick. He'd expected Monroe to fling himself away, horrified, but instead feeling Monroe's arms tightening slightly, bringing their bodies even closer, surprised him. He enjoyed the moment, allowing the hope to spread that maybe Monroe shared some of the same feelings. Eventually – too soon for Nick's taste – Monroe's grip lessened, and Nick sighed.

"Guess I better turn that off," Nick muttered, running a hand over his face.

"Does it ever stop?" Monroe asked as he far too casually slid off the far side of the bed. Nick could see the question in his eyes, wondering if Nick had noticed the tightened grip.

Fairly certain that neither of them were ready for that conversation, Nick said lightly, "It continues to get louder until I turn it off."

Monroe picked up his own phone from the windowsill and frowned down at it. "I don't even know how to set my alarm."

Nick laughed and rolled off his side of the bed. "I'm gonna go get that. Coffee?"

Monroe nodded. "I'll meet you downstairs."

He headed into his own bedroom to turn off the alarm and grinned as he heard Monroe stop by the bathroom before heading downstairs. This whole thing – the house, Monroe – felt right. He threw on some jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt before taking his own turn in the bathroom and joining Monroe in the kitchen.

He'd just taken a sip of Monroe's coffee when he heard, "You need to mark the place." Looking up, he saw Monroe, his own coffee in his hand, staring out of the window into their woods.

"Umm, excuse me?"

"You know," Monroe said, head tilting toward the window. "You need to mark your territory."

"You said that earlier, but I just figured it was the rantings of a sleepy Blutbad."

"Sooner would be better than later," Monroe said. "Eventually, everyone's going to know where the Grimm's relocated."

He was about to say, "There is no amount of beer that I could consume that could give me enough to mark over nine acres," when he realized that it was a good way to start easing Monroe into feeling like he belonged. Casually he nodded. "I'll buy a couple of cases of beer on the way home, and we'll go for a walk. We can take turns."

Monroe opened his mouth, probably to reject his participation, but Nick's alarm went off again.

"I have to head out now or I'll be late." He poured the coffee into his travel mug – there was no way he was wasting any of this good stuff – and headed for the door. "Text me if you can think of anything else I need to pick up on the way home."


	12. Chapter 12

Monroe watched Nick hightail it out of the house as if it weren't obvious that he was trying to get Monroe to feel some sort of ownership toward the place. Of course Monroe couldn't help but feel warm at the thought that despite everything, Nick still wanted him around. However, he knew it was only a matter of time before he did something else – made some decision or failed to make a decision – that would result in Nick's losing other things – people – that mattered to him. Monroe was a bad bet, and it was important that he left Nick before something else tragic happened. He'd promised to stay until he was fully healed, but in the meantime, he had to remind himself that this was Nick's house, not his. He was just a temporary roommate.

That thinking was hard to remember a few hours later when he answered the door and was pushed aside by what had become a passel of young adults.

"Welcome back!" Holly threw her arms around Monroe's neck, and his own automatically rose to hug her back.

"Uh, thanks," he said, stunned at the unexpected onslaught.

"Pizzas coming through," Hanson said, shoving past them in front of Barry, both of whom had arms filled with pizza boxes.

Distracted, Monroe asked, "What – "

"Don't worry. We got a vegetarian one too," Gracie said, smiling as she followed the boys into he kitchen.

Holly pulled back, frowning as she sniffed. "You smell different."

Monroe was saved having to try to explain something he didn't understand himself by a loud thunk and Barry's shouted, "Monroe, where do you keep the paper towels or, I guess, a broom or something?"

Monroe sighed, turning toward the kitchen as he shoved the door closed. He couldn't think of a single accident where paper towels and a broom could be used interchangeably. It didn't help that he hadn't thought to buy either of those – or a mop, for that matter.

Two hours and five pizzas later (including the side salad Monroe had made and insisted they eat), they all reclined in the empty living room that easily lost that echo when suddenly filled with four more people talking at the same time.

They'd all caught him up on their lives, including that of the missing Roddy, who was buried in the snow in Ohio for his second year at Oberlin College's Conservatory of Music. "He's doing some sort of intensive class there for Winter term, but he'll be back for about a week before spring term starts," Barry said, flushing a little.

Monroe frowned at Barry's strange reaction but let Barry explain about bouncing from job to job. He made a point of saying that he hadn't gotten into any 'real' trouble lately. Monroe nodded appreciatively, choosing not to ask for clarifications on Barry's use of 'real' and 'lately'. He just decided to interpret it that Barry hadn't been arrested in the past two years and be happy about that.

Gracie and Hanson had gotten their GEDs and were living together in a small apartment that Nick had co-signed with them. Gracie was working at McDonalds, and Hanson was doing odd jobs around town, again thanks to Nick and his connections. Gracie was saving a few dollars every paycheck for classes at Portland Community College. She blushed and grinned when Monroe told her that he was proud of them both – and not surprised at all at how well they were doing. Hanson hid a small grin behind another piece of pizza.

Holly was a freshman at Marylhurst University, just outside of Portland. Still quite shy and uncomfortable around strangers, she liked that she had the option of taking online courses and could still live at home. She explained that she and Gracie hoped that one day Gracie could transfer there with the credits she'd earn from Portland Community College, and maybe they could room together.

Holly grinned as she leaned against Monroe, nibbling on her third piece of pizza. She'd barely stopped touching him the entire evening as if worried that he was going to disappear again when she turned her head. Two years ago, Monroe had been convinced that his leaving town was the best thing for everyone, including the kids, as he'd thought of them once they started coming around, leaving stuff at his house, complaining that he never had any 'good stuff' to eat with their mouths filled with food from his refrigerator. But now that he sat there watching them, seeing how much they had grown during his absence, he wondered how much he'd been deluding himself.

The entire time he braced himself for the questions, uncertain what he was going to tell them. Since he'd returned, he made a concentrated effort not to think about any of it, and he hadn't talked about it with anyone – except a few things he'd let slip to Nick. The kids had already seen and experienced way too much of the darker side of life; he wasn't planning on adding to that. But no one mentioned his departure. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"So, ready to go?" Barry stood, wiping the crust dust off of his black jeans.

It took a few seconds for Monroe to realize that Barry was looking at him – and not asking him about the last two years. "Are you talking to me?"

"Yeah. We're supposed to take you to the DMV to renew your license and then go furniture shopping. Well," Barry amended, "I'm just driving."

"We're your moral support," Holly beamed.

"And we're also supposed to make sure you don't buy something crappy," Hanson added.

Gracie punched her brother. "That's not what he said!"

"He didn't say those exact words," Hanson admitted, "but that's what he meant."

"He meant that he wanted to make sure that Monroe bought what he wanted, not just what was on sale," Holly said.

"Yeah, and only new stuff," Barry added.

"Nick put you up to this?" Monroe knew he was a bit behind, but it had been a long time since he'd been around so many people, and these kids had had a way of making his head spin even two years ago.

Barry rolled his eyes as he started to pick up the pizza boxes. "How'd you think we knew where you lived?"

Monroe acknowledged the point and went upstairs to get his things while the kids cleaned up the pizza.

Before he knew it, he was riding shotgun, trying not to cover his eyes as Barry tore down the road, his attention everywhere but on the road in front of him.

The trip to the DMV went surprisingly fast. Monroe suspected it had more to do with the looks of displeasure tossed his way as the kids behaved atrociously, worse than the toddlers three rows down, than anything else. After that, Barry changed the plan slightly, taking them to a car lot owned by "this guy I know".

Monroe leveled a glare at him. "If I buy a car from this lot, am I going to have to be worried about serial numbers and visits from Nick's cop friends?"

"No!" Barry said, hands raised instead of on the steering wheel. "He's an old school friend of my dad's. Sometimes he lets me detail the cars and stuff. He'll give you a good deal. He and dad are pretty close." Barry gave him a steady look, letting him know that the owner was also a Jägerbar.

Partially appeased, Monroe tromped inside, followed by the kids, and let Barry have a few minutes with the owner. Monroe figured Barry was explaining that his group consisted of a couple of Blutbads and a couple of humans and that they all came in peace.

By the time Monroe stood in front of his 2011 Jetta SportWagen, he felt a little shell-shocked. It didn't help that as soon as he'd said, "I think I like this one," the others had piled into Barry's car and disappeared in a flurry of excuses, leaving him to deal with the paperwork alone, furniture shopping assistance apparently forgotten.

His pocket vibrated, and he dug his out phone and answered it, still feeling a bit dazed.

"You okay?" Nick asked.

"I bought a car." He thought about the insurance he'd just gotten without having done any research or listing the pros and cons of different companies.

"Well, I was hoping for furniture, but you were definitely going to need your own transportation. I'm assuming that everything went fine down at the DMV, then?"

"Nick, I just bought a car." He hadn't even checked the blue book value of the thing. Sure, he'd thought to ask for that history report, but he'd barely haggled, and for all he knew, he could've just spent thousands over what the car was worth.

Nick paused. "You just said that."

And then there were the monthly payments. He was committed for, like, years. "A car. I'm standing in front of a car that I just bought."

"Are you okay?" Nick asked.

Despite the worry he heard in Nick's voice, Monroe couldn't contain the slightly hysterical laugh. "I haven't driven in two years."

"Monroe. Are your hands shaking?"

Frowning at the bizarre question, Monroe looked down to find the keys in his hand rattling against each other. "Huh. How'd you know that?"

"Where are you?"

Monroe told him, still staring at the key ring. "I need to put the house key on here," he muttered absently.

"Stay right there. I'm coming to get you."

Monroe was still patting at his pockets with one hand, trying to find where he'd slid the house key earlier, the other hand still holding the phone, when Nick pulled up right in front of him. He gave the Grimm a smile that felt a little tight around the edges. "Hey. That was fast. I can't find the house key." He suddenly had a terrible thought and looked up at Nick fearfully. "Maybe I left it in the door. All a thief would have to do is just turn it and walk inside. I don't remember setting the alarm."

"I guess it's a good thing we only have some plates and rutabagas," Nick said, taking the keys from Monroe's hands.

"You don't like those plates, do you?" Monroe asked mournfully.

"They're very nice plates," Nick said gently. "Why don't you get into my car."

"I just bought a car," Monroe said. He realized he was being vague and gestured toward the purple vehicle beside him.

"Well," Nick said, lips pursed, "you won't have trouble finding it in a parking lot."

"It's used," Monroe explained.

Nick smiled slightly. "I'm sure it is. Go get in my car, and I'll be right back."

Monroe knew that this strange fog he was in wasn't natural, that he needed to snap out of it, but he found that he wasn't quite sure how to do that. He tried closing his eyes but only got dizzy, so he figured he'd better do what Nick told him and made his way to Nick's passenger seat.

M

Nick had been so focused on Monroe that he hadn't considered that the owner of the lot was Wesen. So it took a few minutes for him to explain that he was a friend of both Barry's family and Monroe – and that he wasn't there to kill the Jägerbar. Eventually, the owner recalled hearing about the Grimm and his friend the Blutbad from years ago, and he promised that he'd given Monroe a good deal, agreeing to keep the car free of charge until Nick could get someone to drive it to the house. Nick had already decided not to ask someone from the lot to do it, because while his address wasn't confidential, he was leery at having a strange Wesen just roll up into their driveway.

Within half an hour, he and Monroe were pulling up to the house, Monroe still worried and muttering about the house key. After confirming that Monroe hadn't actually left the key in the door – although he had indeed forgotten to set the alarm, they went inside, heading straight for the kitchen, the only place downstairs that didn't contain an echo.

Monroe was now convinced that he must've dropped the key somewhere, maybe at the DMV, because he hadn't really been many places that day. He started rambling about how they had his address at the DMV, and he might've just as well have written it on the key itself, and Nick'd had enough. He grabbed Monroe and started patting him down, the move surprising Monroe into silence. He found the key in Monroe's back pocket, squished underneath a surprisingly hefty new wallet. It had taken quite a bit of willpower not to squeeze a little; those Pilates really did a body good.

"Wow, thanks!" Monroe gave Nick a brilliant grin that fell a few seconds later, leaving him looking confused. "I know I'm not, I'm not acting right."

"It's okay," Nick said. "Why don't we go upstairs?"

"Okay," Monroe said, preceding Nick. He looked back for a moment. "We need some furniture."

Nick couldn't help but laugh around his worry.

They separated at the top of the steps, but Nick quickly changed into his pajama pants and worn t-shirt before padding across the hall and through Monroe's open doorway. Monroe had already turned down the bed and smiled faintly when he looked up at Nick. Without discussion, Nick turned off the light and slid under the blankets on his side of the bed, automatically sliding his body halfway over Monroe's. He felt Monroe sigh, the Blutbad's body relaxing slowly.

After a few seconds, Monroe asked, his voice loud in the silence, "How was the rest of your day?"

"I met with the bail bondsman and have a few people I need to track down."

"Human or Wesen?"

"The bail bondsman or the skips?"

"Either? Both?"

"Donna – the bail bondsman – is definitely human. I'm not sure about the skips yet."

Monroe yawned, then shifted a little, his hand resting on the one Nick had over Monroe's chest. "So she gave you the… the skips, and then what do you do?"

"It's not as exciting as it looks like on TV," Nick said. "I spent the rest of the day on the computer and the phone, researching their friends and family, trying to find out as much information as I could. Tomorrow, I'll start knocking on doors. Actually running into the skip just hanging out at his mom's house would make things so much easier, but it's usually a little tougher than that." He kept talking until Monroe's breath evened out in sleep, eventually falling asleep himself to the gentle beat of Monroe's heart under his hand.

The next morning, Nick yawned and rolled over, his arm hitting the empty side of the bed. Rubbing at his eyes, he rose, and after a quick stop in the bathroom, strode downstairs to find a determined Monroe writing furiously on one of the notepads. "G'morning," he muttered, heading straight for the coffeemaker, only to find his travel PPD coffee mug full and waiting for him. Smiling, he took a healthy sip and stood beside Monroe, leaning against him and the island to get a better look at the notepad. "What'cha writing?"

"So I figured out that I probably freaked out yesterday due to poor planning," Monroe said so quickly that Nick wondered how many cups of coffee he'd already drunk. "I started thinking about how I'd just gotten insurance and bought this car without doing my due diligence –"

"Due diligence," Nick repeated, hoping the coffee would kick in sooner rather than later.

"Yeah. If I'd done my research, made sure that I was making a good financial plan, then I wouldn't have gone off the rails and needed you to come rescue me."

Nick frowned. "You know I don't mind rescuing you." In fact, he kind of enjoyed it.

It was Monroe's turn to frown. "If I'm in a pit about to be skewered by, say, a Drang-Zorn, then yes, by all means save me. But all I did yesterday was buy a car. As a grown-ass man, I should be able to handle that by myself."

"You're still recuperating –" Nick started.

"All I have left are the scars."

Nick wanted to say something about the emotional scars being the toughest to heal or something to that effect, but he just wasn't awake enough for that kind of conversation. Instead, he pulled the pad out of Monroe's grasp, ignoring the, "hey!" from his side.

"So, this is your to do list for the rest of the week?"

"The day," Monroe said.

Nick arched an eyebrow. "That's a lot to take on."

"We're both sick of sitting on the floor. As God as my witness, we will have furniture by tomorrow," Monroe said with a little grin.

"That reminds me." Nick pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and after a few seconds, pulled out a credit card in Monroe's name. He held it out to the man beside him. "Just charge the furniture on there."

"I can't do that," Monroe protested.

"You're on the account, and your name's on the card. There's a fairly sizable amount in there, so you shouldn't have any problem."

"No, I mean I can't spend all of your money."

Nick tried to keep from looking hopeful. He'd hoped Monroe would protest, maybe offer to purchase some of the furniture himself. It had nothing to do about the money. He wanted Monroe to feel invested, and purchasing furniture could be the beginnings of his tie to the place.

"I need to pay rent at least."

Anger quickly rose inside of Nick, and he slammed the card onto the counter. "You're not my fucking tenant; you're my friend!" He snatched his keys from the end of the counter and slammed out of house, peeling down the driveway.

By the time he reached the gate, he regretted his outburst, but he couldn't bring himself to turn around and apologize. He might have said it anger, but he meant it. He'd been bending backwards to show Monroe how important he was, and he was getting awfully tired of working so damn hard. He wasn't about to stop, but he just needed some time to shore himself up.

And he'd forgotten his damn coffee.


	13. Chapter 13

Monroe absently tore off the sheet of paper and folded it before putting it in his front pocket, trying to figure out what he'd done to make Nick so angry. Maybe Nick'd had enough of all of Monroe's strange behavior. But no, Monroe thought, if that had been the case, he'd have gotten angry the night before after he'd driven them home. It had to be more than Nick's being insulted by Monroe's not wanting to take Nick's credit card. Monroe picked it up, surprised to find it was also a debit card. He gently put the card back down on the counter. Was it the rent comment? Did Nick think that Monroe's offering to pay rent was ungracious? But how could offering to help pay off the mortgage be a bad thing? Monroe sighed, wishing he had someone left he could talk to about it.

Until he could figure it out, he needed to start on his plan for the day. The first item, "Pick up car," was going to be a little tougher now that he no longer had a ride. If he knew how to use the Internet on his phone, he could probably find the number to a cab service, but he just shoved the card into his wallet, grabbed his keys, and felt thankful that he'd bought a really comfortable pair of shoes.

He'd only been walking for about twenty minutes when a car pulled over in front of him. He stopped, wary. He didn't recognize the vehicle; of course, the only ones he knew belonged to Nick, Hank, Barry, and now himself. He still hadn't been able to woge, so he couldn't let his inner wolf help him if he needed to defend himself.

The car honked, and a familiar head poked out of the driver's side window. "Going my way, sailor?" Wu asked.

Huffing out a laugh, Monroe sped up and hopped into the passenger seat, automatically holding out his hands over the heater.

"Don't you know hitchhiking is overrated?" Wu asked, pulling back onto the road. "And dangerous, even for men? I could throw out some statistics if you want."

"No thank you. And I wasn't holding out my thumb," Monroe corrected. "As far as anyone was concerned, I was just out for a walk." He looked up at the sky, noting that it was obviously going to start raining soon. "But I appreciate the lift."

"No problem. Where're we going?"

"I need to pick up my new used car," he rattled off the address. "And then I'm heading to the public library." He realized he wasn't even sure which branch was closest.

Wu slid him a glance. "You that desperate for a good read?"

"We don't have Internet access at the house yet… or a computer," he realized, awkwardly pulling out the paper from his jeans and a pen with the car dealership logo to add buying an affordable laptop onto the list. "So I'm going to use the computers at the library."

"What do you have to look up?"

"The only furniture we have in the house right now are our two beds and a coffee maker."

"Ahh, your asses are demanding some respect, huh?" Wu said.

Monroe shook his head. He hadn't really spent much time with Wu before, what with Wu's being a cop and then his trying to stay sane after what he'd gone through with his friend. Monroe'd gathered from what he'd heard in passing from Nick and Hank that Wu was a little bit of a wiseass, but he found it a welcome relief from the confusion in his head. "Yeah. So I'm going to do some research, get an idea of how much things cost before I start looking around."

"Need some help?"

Monroe looked at him, surprised.

Wu shrugged. "We broke the case late last night, and I'm off today."

"Right! Nick mentioned that you're now a detective! Congratulations!"

"Thanks," Wu grinned. "I can't tell you how nice it is to wear something other than that uniform. Of course, now I actually have to plan out what I wear every day, color coordinate, 'cause you know, I gotta look sharp."

Monroe smiled. "You sure you don't have any plans?"

"It turns out that your body can indeed get too much sleep, and all of my non-alcoholic friends are at work. Besides, I just helped a friend redecorate her apartment, so I'm up on the current trends and prices. And," he added with a wink, "I'm a damn good decorator if I say so myself."

"I'm on a budget," Monroe warned, "but Nick wants all new stuff."

"Hank took me on a tour of your place when he was thinking of buying it, and it was right when I was finishing up with my friend, so I will admit to having a few ideas already. You have any restrictions?"

"No red," Monroe said promptly. "And definitely no white," he added, thinking of the mess the kids had made earlier.

"What about Nick?"

"All he said was that he wanted something comfortable."

Wu laughed. "How about I chauffeur you around, take you to some of the places with the better deals, and we can pick up your car later?"

"That'd be great," Monroe said. "I appreciate it."

"I love spending other people's money," Wu said. "Besides, my one bedroom doesn't give me many opportunities to decorate."

To his surprise, Monroe found himself having a really good time. Wu kept things lighthearted and was indeed really good at not just finding bargains, but also matching furniture from different stores. Monroe still felt hesitant about making executive decisions, so before purchasing anything, he texted pictures of his choices to Nick (after a quick phone tutorial from Wu) for final approval. He'd been a little nervous as he waited for Nick's first response, but the, "Is it going to coordinate well with our Pergo floors?" told him that whatever he'd done earlier was forgiven – or at least forgotten for the moment. After that, Nick always texted back promptly, usually with responses that explained his definite opinion: "Yes!", "Ugh.", "?!", "What IS that?", "I love that sofa; buy one for every room in the house.", "It looks like it'll eat me alive.", "Are we going with a putrescence color theme?" His only specific request was that Monroe made sure to buy them both dressers for their rooms because, "Diggn thru boxes sux."

Almost every store had an employee who remembered Wu, who somehow made sure that every piece of furniture would be delivered the next day while Monroe was stuck at home waiting for the cable and internet installer.

By his closest estimation, they'd pretty much taken care of furnishing the living room, the two master bedrooms, and patio before they finally took a break. Realizing they were close to the diner he and Nick had eaten at a few days earlier, Monroe offered to treat Wu to a late lunch.

Brenda, the waitress from his last visit, walked up to the table, grin on her face. "If it's not the mysterious cook from the other day!" She handed them the menus.

Monroe smiled back, feeling his face grow red as he introduced Wu, who of course had to ask about her comment. And of course she happily described Monroe's last visit.

"Aren't you the hero!" Wu teased, settling back in the booth as Brenda went to get their drink orders.

Monroe rolled his eyes and tried not to look embarrassed. "She embellished a lot," he muttered.

"I don't know, that Apples and Onions does sound pretty tasty."

"It's not printed on the menu, but we serve it now," Tony walked up, the hair around his face curling damply. He held out his hand to Monroe. "You have no idea how much you helped me."

"So things are going better?" Monroe asked, automatically shaking the young Siegbarste's hand as he attempted to move the focus off him – and to keep his mind off of the potential health issues with Tony's loose hair.

"Yeah, I mean it still gets pretty overwhelming, but I'm doing a lot better. Ask Brenda." He beamed as she returned with the drinks.

"Even his daddy's been impressed," Brenda said, sending a little side smile to Tony.

"Wow, okay," Monroe said, realizing that Tony's father hadn't been the only one impressed. He looked over at Wu, who gave him a little smirk.

"I'll have the Apples and Onions then," Wu said, handing his unopened menu back to Brenda.

"I make a pretty good steak too, as long as you either like it rare or well done," Tony said to Monroe.

"He's a vegetarian," Wu answered before Monroe could open his mouth. After a brief pause, Wu looked at Monroe. "You're still a vegetarian, right?"

Monroe nodded, not sure what surprised him more, the thought that Wu knew he was a vegetarian or the fact that he remembered.

"We have some salads," Tony said uncertainly, and Monroe pictured iceberg lettuce and a few tomatoes. "Do vegetarians eat tuna fish?"

"Apples and Onions is fine," Monroe said, choosing to ignore Wu's snort.

Eventually Tony and Brenda had to return to work, and Monroe breathed a silent sigh of relief, finally relaxing back in his side of the booth. He hadn't realized how stressful it had been to spend the entire day surrounded by people. He'd never really been one to thrive on attention anyway, but all of the time he'd spent in his self-imposed exile and subsequent imprisonment seemed to have only magnified his need to be alone.

"How long do you think they've been together?" Wu asked, tilting his head toward the two.

"They weren't looking at each other like that the last time I was here," Monroe admitted.

"Monroe the love doctor," Wu teased.

It was a good thing they weren't on a strict schedule, because while he might have made progress in the kitchen, Tony still needed to work on his speed. Eventually they got their food, but Monroe found that he was enjoying Wu's presence so much that he wasn't in any rush.

"This was really good," Wu said, surprised as he placed his fork on the empty plate in front of him.

"Why did you order it if you didn't think you'd like it?" Monroe asked.

Wu shrugged a shoulder. "I figured it would be harder to give me food poisoning." He grinned. "So, what's next?"

Monroe pulled out his paper, which by this time looked a little worse for wear, and smoothed it out on the table. "I need to get a laptop and pick up my car, and that's it for the day." While he didn't order any himself, Monroe encouraged Wu to have dessert while they discussed computer options. Wu finally convinced Monroe to purchase a laptop that seemed way too powerful for his needs, but Wu pointed out that it could help Nick work from home too, and Monroe readily capitulated. Wu had Monroe agreeing to ride with him to the Apple store in Pioneer Place before Wu dropped Monroe off at the car dealership.

After a relatively painful computer purchase that took a sizable chunk out of his bank account – with an additional printer that was going to be pretty close to free after the rebate – Wu dropped Monroe off at the dealership, waving off Monroe's thanks.

Luckily, driving a car proved the old adage about riding a bike true, and this time Monroe had no problems driving to the house in his new car.

Nick hadn't arrived yet, so Monroe set up the computer and printer in a temporary spot on the kitchen island – creating a new furniture list with a computer desk and chair at the top - and started dinner. He wasn't sure what time Nick was going to be home, but for some reason, he felt hesitant to call. And suddenly, his earlier confrontation with Nick was forefront in his mind.

Adjusting his breathing, Monroe concentrated on making dinner. This is what he loved about cooking, how the rinsing and cutting and mixing calmed him down, let him empty his mind of exhausting thoughts for a while. It had always been a brief respite from the chaos in his life.

"I'm home," Nick called, slamming the door shut.

"I hope you haven't eaten," Monroe said, suddenly feeling a bit tentative. "I guess I should've called –"

"No, I haven't eaten," Nick said, smiling a slow smile that made Monroe's stomach flutter just a little bit. He'd always liked that smile. "I did bring wine, though." He waved a bottle in the air. "Hopefully it'll go with whatever you're cooking." He also produced a twelve pack of beer, which he put in the fridge.

"Dinner's almost ready," Monroe said, smiling as he pulled out the corkscrew. "Why don't you open it up?" He pointed to a cabinet. "The glasses are in there."

They worked for a couple of minutes in companionable silence, Monroe happy to be in Nick's presence.

After he'd poured the wine, Nick leaned against the island, watching Monroe work. Eventually, he said, "I want to apologize for earlier."

Even though he knew it was something they needed to talk about, Monroe felt himself tensing. "Yeah, about that," he said, thankful he was facing the sink. "I was wondering what I did, or said, to piss you off." The silence made him turn around to find Nick staring intently at his wine. Without thought, he walked over and nudged Nick's shoulder. "What's going on?"

"I know that we agreed that you'd leave here once you were all healed, but I'd been hoping that you'd change your mind and stay. Maybe it's selfish, because I've missed having you here, but I thought that if you became invested in the house, you'd be less likely to leave. But you refuse to have any real attachment. It's like you already have one foot out the door. Then you offered to pay rent, like you could just leave without looking back, and I guess I just snapped." He handed Monroe a filled glass.

Monroe sighed. "I hadn't really thought of it in terms like that, but I guess you're right." He took a sip while he collected his thoughts. "These last few years, I've made sure that I didn't belong anywhere, because losing everything that night almost broke me. I don't – I'm not sure –" He rolled his damp eyes and huffed an embarrassed laugh.

"You didn't lose everything," Nick said, pressing against Monroe as he pulled him in a one-armed hug. "I know I didn't make it seem like it that night, but you have me. I'm here. And I promise I won't let you down like that again."

"You were hurting –"

"And you weren't?" Nick shot back, pulling away and leaving Monroe feeling absurdly bereft. "You'd lost your home, Rosalee, Troubel, and Juliette – "

"Troubel and Juliette –"

" – were important to you too," Nick insisted. "And then later, when I went looking for you to apologize, I found out about your parents."

Monroe closed his eyes. He really, really didn't want to have this conversation, but Nick seemed determined to clear the air, no matter how painful. A hand curved gently around Monroe's cheek, and he opened his eyes to stare into Nick's somber, beautiful gaze.

"I understand why you didn't tell me. We were in the middle of searching for that arsonist, and things were crazy."

Pushing away from the counter and Nick, Monroe headed into the kitchen, turning off the heat on the stovetop. "Do we have to get into this now?" He hated the pleading sound to his voice, but he really didn't want to break down in front of Nick. He'd shoved everything down so far that bringing it back up was like pulling off a scab.

Nick followed behind him so closely that Monroe could feel the warmth in his back. "Why not now? Do you have some sort of emergency meeting you have to get to?" He darted in front of Monroe, pressing his hand against Monroe's chest. It felt like blow even though it didn't contain any of the strength the Grimm could've used. "Talk to me!"

"What do you want me to say?" Monroe shouted plaintively. He didn't want to relive any of it ever again.

"I know it's painful. I lost people I love too! But this...thing... is just going to be here between the two of us until we hash it out."

"Fine," Monroe ground out. Suddenly the room felt way too small. "I can't do this in here." He wanted to say, 'I can't do this at all', but he knew Nick was never going to let it go. He led the way to the deck, grabbing hold of the wooden railing in a tight grip as he stared unseeingly into the woods. "So what do you want me to say?"

M

Nick looked at Monroe's tense posture, wishing he could let it go. But he'd had a difficult time of thinking about anything else all day and had come to the conclusion that Monroe was determined to do his best to avoid everything that had happened two years ago. If that happened, Nick knew he'd never be able to convince Monroe to stay. "How about we start from the beginning?" He suggested, leaning back against the railing, falling back on an old routine he and Hank used to use for particularly difficult cases. "We were pretty much going on nonstop trying to find the serial arsonist who'd been burning down buildings for the past few weeks. You stopped by the station a little after the Lieutenant created the task force, because you'd gotten a tip that he was after Wesen, right?"

Monroe frowned, and Nick could tell that he was pushing himself back to that night despite everything inside him telling him to just leave it alone. "A buddy of mine in my wieder support group mentioned something about a friend of his whose house had burned down, and it caught my interest. So Ro – " He took a deep breath and cleared his voice. "Rosalee and I had asked around and worked out that the arsonist was more than likely a Drang-Zorn with an axe to grind. We couldn't figure out where his anger was aimed, but that's when I came to the station."

"And that's when Renard hired you as a consultant and added you to the task force."

"Pressed me into service is more like it," Monroe snorted.

Nick grinned, remembering Monroe's attempts to get out of it, citing his upcoming clock making deadlines as he'd literally backed out of the office.

But of course Monroe hadn't been a match for Renard, who'd wrapped words like 'duty' and 'responsibility' around Monroe until he'd been too bound by obligation to go anywhere. In less than ten minutes, a very unhappy Monroe had been seated in a chair beside other detectives and cops listening to Nick and Hank give a progress report.

"When did you find out about your parents?"

Monroe took a large sigh, the warm air from his lungs turning white as it hit the cold air. "It was while we were at one of the crime scenes. They hadn't been able to get in touch with me, because my phone had died."

Nick pushed off the railing. "I remember that day." The night before, they hadn't left the crime scene until about four in the morning, and Nick had convinced Monroe to just ride with him and use Nick's guest bedroom instead of returning to the station to pick up his own car and then have to drive back home. Monroe had used the last bar of power on his phone to text Rosalee about his plans for the night. The next day, Rosalee had dropped by the station with bags of healthy and surprisingly tasty snacks for everyone – and a charger for Monroe in particular. She'd taken Monroe aside at one point, and a little jealous, Nick had tried to recall the last time he'd seen Juliette anywhere other than asleep in their bed when he'd crawl in beside her for a few hours before a quick shower before heading back into the office.

"I made Rosalee promise to keep it from everyone. We had enough going on as it was, and no one could bring my parents back."

"I knew something was up," Nick confessed. And he had. When he'd returned from walking Rosalee back to her car, Monroe'd had this pinched look in his eyes, but they'd gotten another call about a fire, and Nick had pushed it out of his mind. "I just got all caught up in the case and left you to handle it alone."

"I'm a grown man," Monroe said, his voice quiet. "I made the decision to keep it to myself."

Nick wanted to delve into that further, but he reminded himself to focus. "And then you caught his trail."

"I recognized his scent," Monroe corrected. "I'd caught it at previous… crime scenes, underneath the smoke and ash, but that was the first time I'd smelled it fresh."

Nick paused, taking a sip of his wine. He didn't really want to go any further, but Monroe needed this. He needed this. And they weren't going to be able to move forward if they couldn't get it out in the open. He figured the best way to handle it would be to pull it off quickly like a Band-Aid. "And it was at my house." Once again, Monroe had followed Nick back to Nick's place for a couple of quick showers and a change of clothes. This time they'd escaped in the middle of the day after poking through the last crime scene, and that's when Monroe caught a familiar scent.

Swallowing, Monroe nodded.

"So we figured the Drang-Zorn had targeted me." Monroe winced, and Nick knew he was blaming himself. He found himself leaning closer to catch Monroe's gaze. "It made perfect sense to all of us. Get to the Grimm by burning down his territory, building by building."

It'd been embarrassingly easy to connect the dots after they'd made that connection – Nick had been to each place, sometimes officially but mostly in his role as a Grimm. What they hadn't realized until too late was that he hadn't been the only one with those same connections.

"I'm the one who came up with the fantastic idea of having Rosalee and Juliette grab some stuff at the spice shop before heading to the weider meeting house for their safety," Monroe said harshly, his voice tinged with hint of tears. "I'm the one who convinced you that he'd never find them there."

"I'm the one who got Trubel to go with them," Nick reminded Monroe.

"Don't tell me you don't feel guilty for that!"

"I do feel guilty," Nick said, "but I also know that it wasn't my fault. It was Dante Forn's." He remembered Monroe's focus as he scented out the Drang-Zorn, taking Monroe, Hank, and Nick to the middle of nowhere, one of the places Nick and Monroe liked to train. They'd stopped by the trailer first for weapons, each of them knowing that odds were they were going to need them.

They'd almost stumbled on him literally, as he hid in the hole he'd dug along the side of the small clearing. He'd emerged, fully woged, black hair covering most of his face, two sets of fangs on either side of his mouth. He glared at them with red-tinged irises.

Nick had tried to engage with him, hoping that he'd get the Drang-Zorn to turn himself in, all the while knowing that Hank and Monroe – and even he himself, really – didn't believe it was going to end well. But he was a cop, and the kind of Grimm he'd decided he was going to be meant that he had to give it a try.

The Drang-Zorn had given them his version of a grin, claws raised. "Eye for an eye. This is for my brother," he said cryptically before launching himself at Monroe. Automatically, Nick had stepped in front of his best friend and gotten off three shots. Of course that hadn't really hurt the Wesen, but it had given them a few necessary seconds, and in within minutes, he laid on the ground, gasping his last breaths.

Nick stood there, panting, watching the Drang-Zorn glaring at Monroe, and something inside clicked. It didn't completely firm in Nick's mind until the Drang-Zorn muttered, "You're already too late," before he rattled his last breath.

Nick looked up at Monroe, saw the horror he must've had on his own face, before he, Monroe, and Hank ran for the car.

They'd been too late, having to pull behind the fire trucks blocking the street. The uniforms had managed to block Nick and Hank before they could get too far, but Monroe had continued forward, three policemen and two firemen hanging off his arms and shoulders, their feet dragging along the ground as he pushed forward. Nick had broken free and run in front of Monroe, so close to the fire that he could feel the heat licking at his back. He'd pressed his hands against Monroe's chest and shouted Monroe's name to get his attention. "You can't go in there!"

"They're in there!" Monroe yelled. "All three of them! I can get them out!"

Nick knew what Monroe wasn't saying, but he also knew that Monroe's being a Blutbad couldn't help them now. They were too late. "You aren't fireproof, Monroe! You have to stop!" Hank joined him, and between the two of them, the policemen, and the firemen, they managed to force Monroe away from the burning meeting house.

Nick's mind had decided that between those three capable women, they'd somehow sensed that they were in danger and were waiting somewhere in the throng pressed against the police tape. He remembered looking through the crowd, trying to find their familiar faces. It wasn't until much later, when the three body bags emerged from the still-smoldering building, that Nick's heart had broken. His mind still wouldn't believe it, and he'd forced the paramedics to stop and let him unzip all three bags, revealing the burnt faces he'd unreasonably hoped not to see.

"Nick?" Monroe had whispered brokenly from the fire truck where Hank had handcuffed him and Wu stood, practically pressed against the Blutbad to keep him there.

Nick felt a ball of anger and hurt and frustration and fatigue gather in his chest, where it started to grow, clogging his throat and making his head ache. At moment, he'd just wanted to scream, to rage and destroy.

"Nick!" Monroe shouted, grabbing his attention.

And suddenly all of that fatigue, the bottled emotion, his anger at himself, at the world, at the Drang-Zorn melded together into a bullet that Nick aimed straight at Monroe. Within the blink of an eye he was at the fire truck, shoving Wu aside and gathering Monroe's shirt in his fists. "Why did you send them here? This is all your fault!" He'd continued to scream as Hank and Wu pried his fingers from the flannel, and Hank pretty much picked him up and carried him back to the car.

Less than five minutes later, Nick was a sobbing mess, soaking Hank's shirt.

Good partner and friend that he was, Hank never spoke of it.

Nick had gotten himself under control, his earlier words coming back to him, and he'd immediately run back toward the fire truck, only to find a mangled set of handcuffs on the ground. He'd headed to Monroe's house, only to find it also smoldering, the exhausted fire chief's estimation putting the fire's starting there the same time it had begun at the meeting house. Turned out, Dante Forn had done his best to make sure Monroe had paid for his past transgression.

A noise brought Nick back to the present, and he realized he was staring at Monroe's hands, now clenched around the wood so tightly that he worried Monroe would break something. He looked up and found that Monroe's whole body was shaking as he tried to hold himself together. And suddenly Nick realized that while he'd had Hank to help him mourn, Monroe hadn't had anyone. And it looked like Monroe had just shoved down the pain from the very beginning and had kept it there.

Nick gently pried Monroe's fingers loose, holding them in his own as he pulled Monroe to him.

"I can't – it's my fa –" Monroe started, wet eyes lifted into the air as he tried to maintain his composure.

Nick dropped Monroe's hands and took a small step, wrapping his arms around his best friend.

Monroe's entire body was shaking so hard that Nick felt his teeth rattle. "It's not your fault," he whispered, hanging on as Monroe tried to pull away. "It's not your fault," he kept repeating through Monroe's gasps until he felt Monroe's arms wrap around him. With a small groan, Monroe finally gave in, this time his body shaking with sobs.

Nick just held on, whispering, finally giving Monroe time to mourn.


	14. Chapter 14

The next day, Monroe awakened from a deep sleep to find himself alone in bed. He stretched, feeling light and relaxed, his mind slowly coming online. It took a full two minutes before he remembered his breakdown the night before, and he shot up in bed, groaning as he ran a hand over his face. He'd been exhausted afterward, following Nick upstairs like some sort of dazed puppy. They'd stopped at the bathroom, Nick sitting Monroe down on the toilet and wiping Monroe's face with a tenderness that had Monroe's eyes once again welling up with tears. The coolness of the damp washcloth soothed him, and he allowed Nick to pull him into Monroe's bedroom. Monroe gently pushed Nick's hands aside and took off his own clothes until he was just wearing his t-shirt and boxers. Nick had disrobed a little faster and had pulled back Monroe's blankets, pushing Monroe into the bed and climbing in behind him.

Monroe had turned to face Nick, watching the moonlight shine in his eyes, and he wanted to say something, maybe thank you or I'm sorry, but he'd laid himself so bare that he didn't know if he had any words left.

Nick had simply smiled at him, entangling their legs and pressing their foreheads together before closing his eyes with a sigh.

Monroe had closed his eyes as well and fallen into the first restful sleep he'd had in years.

Now that he was awake and alone, the morning sun shining into his room, Monroe groaned in mortification at how he'd behaved the night before. Blutbads didn't sob onto their friends' shoulders, didn't docilely climb the stairs and fall into bed like some sort of child. How embarrassing.

It was done, he finally reminded himself, and today was delivery day. His phone sat on the windowsill, and he found himself smiling fondly when he realized that Nick must've left it there for him. After checking the time, he took a quick shower and ran down the stairs for a cup of coffee – which he didn't quite get to before the doorbell rang with the first delivery.

He had his hands full the rest of the day with the living room set delivery and the cable guy, finally stopping to breathe around four that afternoon. His stomach growling, he headed into the kitchen to grab something quick to eat, only to be distracted by the arrival of the bedroom dressers and then the arrival of the patio furniture. Sighing internally, Monroe pointed to the patio door for two men and led the other two men upstairs to show them where he wanted the dressers placed.

M

Nick had wanted to call Monroe all day, but he knew that Monroe would probably be busy directing furniture deliveries and checking cable and Internet connections. Monroe wasn't the type to bare his soul, and Nick was worried that he was at the house regretting what had happened last night.

For his part, Nick was glad that Monroe had finally let it out. He knew that it didn't magically make everything okay, but it was a step in the right direction. He wanted Monroe to feel safe with him, to feel like he could share anything with Nick and know he'd get support. So he focused on finding a couple of bail jumpers who looked like they might still be in town and resolved to get home as soon as he could.

He walked through the door a little after seven that night, muddy from having tackled a Klaustreich who'd been hiding out at his third girlfriend's house. It took him a second to realize that the living room was now filled with an oversized sofa and matching chairs curving around a really elegant looking coffee table resting on a large carpet.

"This looks fantastic!" He said, turning to see the large television mounted on the wall, a small dark brown wooden entertainment center resting underneath it to contain the cable box and what looked like a DVD player and stereo.

"Everything look comfortable enough?" Monroe asked, the uncertainty in his eyes belying his snarky tone. Nick turned his attention to the overstuffed brown sofa with matching oversized chair, and Monroe added, "It's leather, so it'll grow softer and more supple in time, but the color shouldn't fade. It's tough, so it'll be able to handle the kids with their sneakers and sodas and pizzas when they come over. And, you know, it breathes, so it'll stay cool in the summer and warm in the winter." He seemed to realize he was babbling as he took a breath and held it for a minute.

"Leather sounds perfect," Nick said. "And I like the color."

"I never really thought that black had a lot of depth; white gets dirty too easily. And of course red was out."

"Of course," Nick agreed.

"But I thought that the dark brown was a nice choice. We have forty-eight hours to change our minds, so…"

"Monroe, you made the perfect choice."

"Of course I did," Monroe sniffed, obviously pleased.

"Obviously, I'm gonna have to try out everything," Nick said, "but I have to admit that it's nice not to hear the echoes of my footsteps anymore."

He made a move toward the sofa, but Monroe jumped in front of him. "You're not getting mud over the new furniture," Monroe declared. "Shoes off, and go upstairs." Nick rolled his eyes but followed directions, hearing Monroe shout, "And take a shower while you're up there!"

Nick came back downstairs after washing a disturbing amount of mud from places that should've been protected by clothing. After throwing his dirty clothes in the hamper Monroe had put inside the bathroom closet, he'd changed into sweats and a pair of thick socks, and one of his favorite, though threadbare, t-shirts. Following the noise, he found Monroe out in the chilly deck, putting together a chair. "The delivery men didn't put this together?"

Monroe shook his head. "This way was cheaper. They aren't that difficult, and once I did the first one, I haven't had any problems with the others."

"Can I help?"

Monroe gave one last twist of the screwdriver in his hand and stood, pressing a hand against his lower back. "That was it," he said, sighing and looking around. His stomach grumbled loudly and he shot a guilty look toward Nick. "Sorry."

"No lunch?" Nick said lightly, leading the way back inside the house.

"Umm, no," Monroe said after a moment.

Nick looked at him reproachfully.

"What? I had delivery people with damaged chair legs, the Internet guy trying to do something creative because the signal isn't strong enough out here or something. I had a guy trying to put both dressers in your bedroom despite the specific instructions I gave him." Monroe sighed. "It's been a day."

"How about I make dinner?" Nick suggested, walking toward the kitchen.

"I don't remember buying any frozen dinners," Monroe said, following him.

"Very funny," Nick said dryly, blocking Monroe from entering the kitchen. "Go back into the living room, lie down on that comfortable looking sofa, and turn on the TV. I got this."

"But you don't know where – " Monroe started, looking nervous.

"And you'll be right there in the living room for me to ask," Nick said, turning Monroe around and giving him a little push. "Go."

After one more worried look, Monroe headed over to the sofa.

Nick had scoped out the kitchen a little bit before leaving for work that morning, tossing Monroe's congealed dinner into the trash, so he had a better idea of where Monroe had placed the dishes. He knew he had everything he needed for a simple pasta dish he used to make for him and Juliette. Deciding to brew a pot of decaf, he pulled out the coffee machine's carafe, surprised to find it just as heavy as when he'd left it that morning. He noted the lack of dishes in the sink and pulled open the dishwasher to confirm his suspicions.

Fifteen minutes later, dinner was ready. "Do you want to eat in the living room or in the dining room?" Nick hadn't had a chance for more than a casual glance in the dining room, but he'd spotted a table and a few chairs.

"Living room," Monroe suggested, walking into the kitchen. "I'm not in love with the dining room, and one of the classic channels is airing a 'Starsky and Hutch' episode I don't think I've seen."

"Really? 'Starsky and Hutch'?" Nick teased, but they both knew that he also enjoyed watching the show.

Nick handed Monroe the plates and then grabbed a couple of beers, twisting off the caps, before heading back into the living room. He sat on the sofa, groaning in pleasure as the soft – yet firm – leather greeted him. "Now this is what I'm talking about," he said happily.

Monroe took his plate off the coffee table, doing a terrible job of trying to look enthusiastic. He did a double-take at the mound of food on his plate compared to Nick's.

Keeping his eyes on the television but his focus on the man beside him, Nick said evenly, "I gave you more since you haven't eaten all day."

Monroe turned slightly toward Nick, opening his mouth.

"I may not still have the badge, but once a detective, always a detective," Nick said.

It only took a second before Monroe leaned back with a sigh. "It wasn't intentional. It feels like I blinked, and there you were, walking through the door."

"You're still healing," Nick reminded him. "You need to keep up your strength."

"I know," Monroe said.

They remained silent for a few minutes before Monroe added, "I kind of got out of the habit of eating regularly. In Alaska, I'd just grab something when I felt hungry, and once I was taken, they'd just kind of throw chunks of meat in my cage."

Nick could tell that Monroe wasn't saying everything, but for now, he just wanted to make sure that Monroe felt full and comfortable and relaxed. "Now you can go back to your weider ways if you want."

"Yeah," Monroe sighed distractedly, adjusting his grip on the plate. Bringing it closer to his face, he sniffed delicately, his fork gripped by his nail-less fingers hovering over the food.

Rolling his eyes, Nick said, "It's just boiled pasta with butter, sage, and cheese. It's not going to jump up and smack you."

"I know that," Monroe said lamely, digging into the dish. He took a taste, paused, and nodded. "This is really good!" He grinned.

It was only then that Nick realized he'd been so focused on Monroe that he'd just been sitting there, stupid grin on his face. He forced himself to pick up his own fork and begin eating.

M

Monroe was pleasantly surprised as he dug into the pasta dish Nick had made by himself, acknowledging that he probably needed to stop being such a food snob. He focused on the television, although a part of him remained sensitive to every movement Nick made beside him. He finished his dish in record time, ignoring Nick's smirk as he rose to get them both seconds. Mindful of other pressing business, he also grabbed another two beers and set them on two coasters on the coffee table.

The program ended, and Monroe took their dishes into the kitchen, smiling at Nick's softly worded thanks. Putting them into the sink to soak, he called, "Finish up that beer. We have some walking to do."

"You better bring the rest of the beers then," Nick called out.

Holding back a chuckle, Monroe started shoving bottles into his various pockets. He managed to hold a bottle between each of this fingers and gingerly walked into the living room. "Ready?"

Nick turned from staring out of the window and laughed, taking the four from Monroe's left hand and shoving two into each of his front jean pockets. Monroe tried not to stare as Nick awkwardly tried to push one in his back pocket, but the jeans were just too tight. "Hmm, gonna have to hold the rest of these, I guess."

"Go get your jacket; it's still cold out there."

Nick eyeballed Monroe's strangely hanging chords and his flannel shirt, pockets awkwardly holding more beer. "Maybe I should grab my own flannel shirt. Two more pockets." After pulling the two bottles out of his pockets and placing them on the coffee table, he bounced up the stairs, and Monroe let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding.

He felt like he was splintered into pieces. He'd thought he'd gotten over the dramatics from the night before; turned out, all of the day's activities had only helped him push them to the back of his mind so they could bide their time. But now he felt the emotions crowd him in the quiet room and headed for the deck, the bottles clinking together in his shaking hands as he awkwardly twisted the latch and practically pushed himself outside.

He barely managed to drop the bottles gently on the small table before falling to his hands and knees. Automatically reaching for the wolf within, he felt something small inside start to unfurl, a familiar stretching in his body. He threw back his head, feeling the howl in his chest, until whatever it was inside grew taut, allowing him no further. He remained there, panting, unable to stand even when he heard Nick thumping down the stairs.

"Monroe!" Nick fell to his knees, his hand warm against Monroe's back.

"I'm okay," Monroe said, gasping. He sat back on his haunches, realizing the full impact of what had just occurred. He grinned up at Nick. "It's coming back."


	15. Chapter 15

Nick stared at Monroe, confused. He'd come downstairs, happily envisioning a night's walk with his best friend only to find Monroe on his hands and knees, gasping like he couldn't catch his breath. The next thing he knew, he was crouched beside the Blutbad, unsure of what he could do to help. And now Monroe sat there, goofy smile on his face. "You woged?"

"No, I'm not there yet. But – " Monroe's brow furrowed as he tried to explain himself, something that Nick tried not to consider adorable " – I felt it inside. The wolf. I felt him _in here_." He pressed a fist against his stomach." He gave a little chuckle, again not adorable, Nick reminded himself. "I'm coming back. I can feel it." He stretched out his hand. "I don't know about the nails…"

Nick grasped the shaking hand. "They'll come back too, just in their own time."

Monroe's eyebrows lifted as he smiled. "Now you're an expert?"

Nick held out his own hands, wiggling his fingers. "I get a mani every week. Can't you tell?"

Monroe snorted, holding onto the bottles in his shirt pockets as he slowly rose to his feet. "I can't believe these didn't fall out."

"You're more graceful that I gave you credit for," Nick teased as he returned to the living room for his beers. Choosing to forego the pockets in his jeans this time in favor of the ones in his jacket and shirt, he returned to Monroe's side, noting his friend's straightened posture and happy eyes. Monroe's goofy grin was infectious, and Nick found himself sending one right back as they walked down the deck stairs and headed toward the fence.

Monroe popped open a beer and handed it to Nick. "Drink up."

Pulling out one of his own, he handed it to Monroe. "Right back at'cha." He was prepared for the confused look Monroe shot him. "You really didn't think I was planning on peeing on nine acres all by myself, did you?"

"But – " Monroe started.

Nick didn't give him a chance to continue. "Even if I could drink the copious amount of liquid to enable me to mark that much territory, I'm not the only one who lives here."

"It's your –"

"No, it's _our_ ," Nick said calmly, taking a sip and walking past a frowning Monroe. "Now how does this work? Do I have to just start and walk backwards as I pee or what?"

Monroe rolled his eyes. "Did you ever own a dog?"

Nick grinned, shaking his head. "Aunt Marie wasn't really fond of pets."

"I guess that's not a surprise," Monroe conceded. "You don't have to mark every inch, just here and there so your scent covers the area."

"Can we take turns, or do we need to mix our scents?"

"I can't talk you out of this?"

Nick ignored Monroe's plaintive tone and continued to stare at Monroe until the Blutbad sighed and took a sip of beer.

A few hours later, bladders and bottles emptied, they staggered up the deck stairs, leaning on each other for support. Monroe was wiping tears out of his eyes as he continued to laugh as Nick finished his story about an altercation with a visiting Seelengut who'd accidentally gotten separated from the tour group.

"It's not funny," Nick said, the smile in his voice belaying his words. "You can't imagine the bruises those hooves leave."

"So it was basically a drive-by hoofing?" Monroe leaned against the side of the house as Nick dug in his pocket for the house keys.

Nick shook his head, a corner of his mouth raised. He opened the door, heading straight for the living room.

"Hey, you know that out of everyone, I'm the last to tell you that they aren't dangerous," Monroe reminded him, dropping the empty bottles into the recycling bin in the kitchen. "Did you end up having to make an arrest?"

"It finally got through that I was just trying to help, and by the time everything settled, the tour group was back."

"Let me guess; you ended up being a big hero, saving the poor sheep from being lost forever." Monroe collapsed beside Nick, leaning against his shoulder.

"I did get some pie," Nick admitted, enjoying the warmth spreading through his body.

"So what was his name? The bruising Seelengut?"

A brief pause before, "Susanna."

Monroe's laughter carried throughout the house.

Two days later, Monroe and Nick finally had Wu and Hank over for dinner.

"I wasn't sure what kind of wine to bring, so I just brought beer," Hank said with a grin when Nick opened the door. The former partners looked each other over, grinning as they realized that except for Hank's jacket, they'd dressed exactly alike – blue jeans, blue button-down shirts under dark blazers.

"Thanks, man," Nick said, grabbing the beer and leading Hank inside. He took Hank's coat and hung it on the coat rack Monroe had waxed poetic about finding the day before.

"Wow," Hank said, whistling at the living room. "This looks fantastic."

"Thanks to Wu," Monroe shouted from the kitchen. "He's a fantastic decorator."

"Who knew?" Hank said quietly to Nick, no surprise in his voice but a smile on his lips.

"I certainly didn't," Monroe chirped as he scuttled around the kitchen, unaware of the look between Hank and Nick.

 _He heard that?_ Hank's look asked.

Nick's return look said, _Yep. Looks like he's getting his mojo back._

 _You didn't tell me he'd lost it._ Hank's look chided Nick.

 _Not my story to tell,_ Nick's face said.

 _Fair enough_ , Hank shrugged.

"You two doing that partners reading each other's minds thing again?" Monroe asked, walking into the room with two spoons.

"Ex partners," Nick reminded him.

"Technicalities," Hank said, turning to Monroe. "I brought beer." He sniffed. "I don't know what you're making, but it smells good in here."

"Thanks! Try this and tell me what you think." Monroe held a spoon at each man's mouth.

"Umm," Nick said, trying to come up with an excuse not to try the greenish creamy looking mixture in front of him.

"I'm the guest, so I think I'll just wait until you've ironed out the bugs," Hank said.

Rolling his eyes, Monroe said, "It's not going to make you sick. Just tell me if it needs a little kick."

"But – " Nick opened his mouth to form an excuse but found it filled when Monroe simply shoved in the spoon.

"Wow," Hank said, surprised. "That was kind of unfai –"

Monroe shoved the other spoon into Hank's mouth.

Nick swallowed, realizing that the mixture was actually quite good. He looked over to Hank, who seemed to be feeling the same way. "Not bad," he admitted.

"Not bad my ass. That was really good," Hank said with a smile.

"Great!" Monroe beamed, collecting the spoons in one hand so he could grab the six-pack with his free hand. "I'll go put these in the fridge."

Nick grabbed two bottles before Monroe left and tilted his head toward the sofa, and they ambled over, Nick flopping on the couch as Hank walked around the room. "Monroe says that we need a few more things in here."

"You have a large screen TV and surround sound. What else do you need?"

"I have no idea," Nick shrugged.

"Maybe a Blu-ray player, or is he gonna get one of those shelves for figurines and stuff?"

"I'm a little afraid to ask," Nick admitted.

"You don't seem to mind, though," Hank said under the clanging of pots and pans.

Nick smiled, enjoying the feel of having a home again and people he loved around him. "I really don't. It seems to make him happy –"

" – and if it'll keep him around, even better," Hank finished.

Nick held up his bottle in response, and Hank gently knocked against it with his own.

Monroe bustled back into the room with more of the mixture in a large bowl with a platter filled with at least three different types of crackers and chips. He paused at the sound of the doorbell, quickly placing the dishes on the coffee table beside the four saucers and napkins he'd put there earlier. "I'll get it. Help yourselves to the dip."

"He seems to be settling in well," Hank said as Monroe enthusiastically greeted Wu.

Nick's eyes roved over Monroe's flannel shirt – grey/blue this time, enjoying the pull of it over Monroe's shoulders.

The Blutbad had worried over his wardrobe earlier. "I only bought a few flannel shirts and Henleys. I knew we were going to be entertaining; why didn't I get a blazer?"

"Relax," Nick had told him, opening his arms to his sides to show off his long-sleeved t-shirt tucked into a pair of jeans. "I'm going for casual, and I'm sure Hank and Wu will do the same." He didn't mention the quick chat they'd had at a crime scene earlier that day.

Monroe's eyes had traveled over Nick like a starving man in front of a delicacy, and Nick's heart began to pound a little faster. Without realizing it, he'd stepped forward, the urge to get closer to Monroe undeniable.

Hank's ringing the doorbell had ended the moment, but Nick still felt the warmth of Monroe's appreciative inspection down to his toes.

Hank cleared his voice, jerking Nick back into the present, and Nick turned to him, words he'd planned on saying forgotten. Hank grinned.

"What?"

"Nothin'," Hank said quickly, still smiling as he dipped a chip and popped it into his mouth.

"Look at these gorgeous flowers Detective Wu brought!" Monroe smiled brightly as he led Wu into the room.

"Drew please," Wu said, grinning. He'd dressed up a little for the evening, more than he'd told them earlier, wearing a dark blazer over a turtleneck and dark blue jeans and seemed immune to Nick's glare. "Hey, guys." He immediately focused on the food. "That looks good. Scootch over." He inserted himself on the sofa between Nick and Hank, immediately grabbing a cracker, loading it with dip, and popping it into his mouth. "Mmmm!" He chewed for a moment, swallowed. "Is this the same recipe you e-mailed to me?"

"I tweaked it a bit here and there, but yeah," Monroe said, ducking his head a little.

"You two've been e-mailing each other recipes?" Hank asked, laughing. "Wu, you have too much time on your hands."

Suddenly Nick didn't find it very funny. Rationally, he knew that the more attachments Monroe made the tougher he'd find it to leave. But he hadn't been prepared for the tightness in his chest at the idea of Monroe bonding with someone else. He blinked, realizing that Monroe was looking at him, the smile slowly sliding off his face as he held the vase protectively in front of him.

"Let me jut go put these in water," Monroe muttered, heading for the kitchen.

"Real slick there," Hank said, knowing look on his face.

"See, mine didn't taste anything like this," Wu complained, completely oblivious.

Monroe returned with a beer for Wu and instructions to chat among themselves while he finished with the final touches for dinner.

After a few seconds, Nick rose with the excuse of grabbing more beers, leaving Wu with his mouth full and Hank asking how he was going to have space for dinner if he kept inhaling the appetizer. He leaned against the wall, watching Monroe pull a large dish out of the oven, oversized oven mitts hampering his movements. Monroe moved with ease, his shoulders relaxed, a small smile on his face. He finally noticed Nick. "Everything okay out there?"

"Just came in to get more beers," Nick said easily.

Monroe frowned. "I bought a nice Zinfandel that'll go really nicely with dinner, but maybe they'd prefer the beer."

Nick shrugged. "We'll give 'em the option. I'll try the Zinfandel, though," he said, earning himself a grin that made him a little warm. "You need any help?"

"I forgot to put down a second trivet." Monroe's eyes focused on the metal stand on the counter. "Can you bring it along with Detec-Drew's flowers?"

Nick grabbed the items, inspecting the trivet curiously as he trailed after Monroe, sniffing the air. "Hank was right; it does smell really good."

"I decided to go with hearty instead of fancy," Monroe said, waiting until Nick had placed the trivet before putting down the blue casserole dish beside a white dish. "I made shepherd's pie, with and without meat, with a few additional ingredients." He took the vase and adjusted it in the middle of the table, sliding it around until he was satisfied with its placement. Standing back, he observed the room.

"What's wrong?" Nick could tell that Monroe wasn't happy, but everything looked fine to him.

"I don't like the table." Monroe sighed. "But there's nothing I can do about it right now."

Granted, Nick couldn't see much of it underneath the dark brown tablecloth, but it looked fine to him. "What's wrong with it?"

"It's not right for the house," Monroe muttered before turning away. "Can you get the guys while I go grab those beers?"

"Sure," Nick said, uncertain about how to react to the table but happy that Monroe didn't seem to expect a response from him about it. He leaned into the living room to find Hank holding the mostly empty dish of crackers away from Wu, who seemed ready to climb over his partner to reach it. Shaking his head and chuckling, he said, "dinner's ready," and left them to detangle themselves.

Of course Monroe had place cards, Nick thought with a smile as he sat across from Hank. Wu sat to his left, leaving Monroe closest to the kitchen. Monroe returned with two beers, but to his obvious pleasure, everyone decided on trying the wine. Nick poured as Monroe explained, "I made shepherd's pie. The blue dish contains lamb; the white is vegetarian. I figured the pie had enough vegetables that none of you would be upset if we didn't have a salad with it –" He smiled at Hank and Wu emphatically shook their heads in agreement. "Nick, if you wouldn't mind."

It only took Nick a second to realize that Monroe wanted him to start moving the food around the table. Grabbing the blue dish, he scooped up a generous amount and passed it to Wu. He then took the white and added a little more, passing that one along as well and earning him another smile from Monroe. Wu and Hank also took a little of the vegetarian, Hank grinning at Nick. _He smiled at Wu and I too, you know._

Nick stared, unimpressed, at Hank. _I didn't see you pouring the wine._

Hank took a deliberate sip and said, "this is really good."

"It's a 2000 Clos LaChance Twin Rivers Vineyard Zinfandel," Monroe explained. "I find that it goes really well with shepherd's pie."

"It totally does," Wu chimed in. He looked around, frowning. "The table doesn't really go with the room like I thought it would."

"I know, right?" Monroe said, obviously delighted that Wu agreed with him. "I was just telling Nick that I don't like it."

"That's my fault," Wu said to Nick. "I was sure it was perfect."

Hank peeked underneath the table, then sat up and looked at the top. "What's wrong with it?"

Nick's eyes widened as he gave a subtle shrug.

"It doesn't work. I don't like its size," Monroe explained.

Wu nodded. "It doesn't fit in here."

"We only had forty eight hours to return it. I should've tried out the room earlier." Monroe turned an apologetic frown to Nick.

As much as he hated the bonding Monroe and Wu seemed to be doing, Nick turned to Wu for help. The table looked fine to him. Sure, it felt a little small, only seating four, but he figured it he and Monroe would eat most of the time in the living room in front of the TV.

"I still have Danita's number; I'll give her a call in the morning, see what I can work out," Wu promised.

"Thanks," Monroe said, pleased.

Wu waved a hand. "She should be giving me a commission considering all of the business I've turned her way lately."

Once again, Nick felt the tendrils of jealousy and didn't like the feeling one bit. He hadn't been prepared for it and wasn't sure how to react.

"There're a couple of places that'll custom make a table for you if you can't find anything you like," Hank chimed in, smiling smugly as Nick glared at him.

Monroe seemed to sense some tension, because he thanked Hank and changed the subject. "I've been wondering." He turned to Nick. "You and Hank use each other's first names, but you still call Drew, 'Wu'."

"Well, yeah," Nick said, distracted as he took a bite. "Monroe, this is absolutely fantastic!"

"Thanks!" Monroe beamed. "So when do you start calling him Drew?"

"What do you mean?" Hank asked, scooping up another large forkful and shoving it into his mouth.

"I'm guessing he was Wu because he was a sergeant and you two were detectives. But now he's a detective too, so shouldn't everyone be calling him Drew?"

Nick frowned, looking at Hank, who was also looking a little thoughtful. "I never really thought about it."

Monroe turned to Hank. "Did they ever just call you 'Griffin'?"

"Yeah," Hank said, "but I don't remember exactly when they started calling me Hank instead. It had to have been after I'd made detective…"

Monroe turned to Nick, who said, "Same here." He'd never really thought about it before, but he looked at Wu and couldn't imagine ever calling the man, 'Drew', uniform or no.

Wu laughed. "I wouldn't think I'd answer if either of them tried that. I'm used to Wu, at least as far as these schmoes are concerned."

"You could introduce yourself as Drew to the new cops," Monroe suggested.

"Newbies get to call me, 'Detective Wu," Wu said pertly. He blinked. "I almost forgot. I ran into your short order cook a few hours ago." He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Monroe.

Automatically taking the paper, Monroe frowned, asking, "When did I get a short order cook?"

"The kid from the diner," Wu said. "The apples and onions guy dating the waitress." He looked at Hank. "We went to this diner for lunch the day we bought the furniture, and it turns out that Monroe had been working a little love magic on the coworkers."

"Brenda and Tony," Monroe reminded Nick.

"Wow," Nick said, sitting back as he remembered that Brenda had been trying to catch Monroe's eye when they'd eaten there. He found that he liked the idea of Brenda and Tony together. He watched Monroe unfold the paper and stare at it. "What does it say?"

"Evidently his dad wants me to give him a call," Monroe said, brow furrowed.

"Probably wants to thank you for cutting down on the potential poisoning lawsuits," Wu said, licking his fork. "Hey, I like these forks."

Monroe brightened. "I thought they had a nice balance."

Wu waved it in the air in front of him. "They really do. I like the tines, too."

"I was trying to decide between…"

Hank looked at Nick, mouthing, "Tines?"

Nick just shook his head. _Seriously. Don't ask._

"Sorry to interrupt," Hank said, not sounding sorry at all, "but does the note say what the guy wants to talk to you about?"

"No, it just asks that I call him and that he works late so I can call up to midnight if it's convenient."

The rest of dinner passed quickly, without any awkward moments when they mentioned events that'd happened in the last few years. Nick had been a little worried about that, but he figured it was something they were going to have to deal with at some point anyway. Might as well do it with friends.

They took dessert outside on the patio, Monroe bringing out a warmed apple pie with their choice of vanilla or chocolate ice cream. They sat in the coolness, enjoying the dessert in relative silence.

The detectives had to work the next day, so after a quick tour of the basement (Wu to Monroe: "Obviously, this is our next project after we fix that dining room table." Hank to Nick: "If you want this as your man-cave, you need to get on it before those two find the perfect table and move on to this room."), Hank and Wu thanked Nick and Monroe for the dinner and departed.

"I thought that went well," Monroe said as he cleaned the dishes before handing them to Nick.

"It was fun," Nick agreed, loading the dishwasher. "And your food was a success."

"No leftovers," Monroe said, tilting the empty white casserole dish. "Not even the vegetarian."

The door rang, and Nick immediately tensed, looking at a stilled Monroe. "I'm sure it's probably Hank or Wu, realizing that they forgot something."

Monroe nodded, whispering. "You have your gun, though, right?"

"Not on me," Nick said, holding out his arms. He turned toward the door.

"Nick!" Monroe whispered.

Nick turned around to find Monroe holding out a large black skillet. He must've given Monroe a look, because Monroe said, "Hey, it's better than nothing. Just be careful, because I've started seasoning it."

Nick rolled his eyes and grabbed the skillet, adjusting his grip once he realized how heavy it was. He revised his sarcastic opinion of Monroe's choice and peered through the peephole, relaxing once he saw Barry's eyeball looking back at him.

He unlocked and opened the door. "Hey, Barry."

"Nick! Guess who just got home!" He stepped aside, and Roddy stepped up, smiling.

"Hey!" Nick reached out and gave the Reinigen a one-armed hug. "How's college treating you?"

"It's going really good," Roddy said. "I thought I'd come say hi to Monroe unless, you know, it's a bad time."

"No! Come on in." Nick stepped back and let the two through. "He's in the kitchen."

Barry led the way, nodding as they passed through the living room. "That sofa looks way more comfortable than the floor."

"Monroe's been busy," Nick agreed.

Roddy had just escaped from Monroe's hearty hug when Nick heard another knock on the door.

"That's probably the rest of them," Roddy said, opening up the refrigerator and sticking his head inside.

Nick's eyes immediately met Monroe's and they smiled at each other before Nick turned and opened the door for the rest of the kids. He waved at Holly's mom as she pulled away.

"Hey, Nick!" Hanson bumped fists with Nick as he and Gracie slipped past. Holly grinned, pulled behind Gracie as they held hands.

He returned to the kitchen after locking the door to find the place filled with noise and movement. Barry was telling Monroe about college while continuing to stand between Monroe and the dishwasher, while Roddy complained that all he saw were fruits and vegetables and there had to be pizza or chips or _something_ edible somewhere in the kitchen. Hanson was drinking orange juice from the container – obviously behind an oblivious Monroe's back – and Grace sat on the counter beside him, waiting her turn. Holly slowly sidled toward Monroe, sniffing and looking a little confused.

Nick just leaned against the wall, smiling at his strange little family.


	16. Chapter 16

After his third turn around Roddy to get to the dishwasher, Monroe wiped his soapy hands on a nearby towel and gently took the young man by the shoulders, maneuvering him beside Hanson on the island. He grabbed the orange juice from Gracie, pouring it into a glass and handing it to her. Still nodding at Roddy's story about playing a solo in class, he hip-checked Roddy from in front of the fridge, replacing the orange juice and pulling out some packages wrapped in paper.

"Hold on a second, Roddy," he said, turning to face the crew. He stared at Grace. "I'll need you off the now unhygienic counter, please." She grinned, hopping down. "Thank you. I'll make you a deal. Everyone go into the living room and put on a movie, and I'll make sandwiches."

Barry looked suspicious. "With meat?"

"Of course with meat!" Monroe realized he sounded scandalized about what was actually a good question. "Everyone but Roddy out into the living room!"

Once everyone had left and he heard the sound of the television, he returned his attention back to Roddy, interrupting here and there with a question about which deli meat Roddy preferred or if he wanted tomatoes or spinach leaves, mayo or mustard on his sandwich.

"We'll have to duet again," Roddy said enthusiastically. "You'll see how much better I've gotten."

It wasn't until then that Monroe remembered his hands. The shaking seemed to have subsided, but his nails hadn't grown back. He hadn't played in over two years; heck, he didn't even have an instrument anymore. He stared down at his hands, these foreign parts of his body, and stumbled, "I… uh…"

"Hey, Monroe. The kids are getting restless. Barry just saw a pizza commercial, and now he's drooling on our new sofa."

Trying not to give Nick a hearty look of thanks, Monroe shoved Roddy's plate in his hand. "I guess sandwiches wait for no man," he said, smiling to cover his nervousness.

"Or Jägerbar," Roddy laughed, taking the plate and walking into the living room.

Monroe had felt Nick leaning against the wall, just watching, and he pictured his Grimm just smiling smugly, silently watching Grace slide her butt on the counter and Hanson drink directly from the juice container. In the back of his mind, he'd been preparing a rant for later when the kids had left, but it all faded when Nick saved him from having to talk to Roddy about playing a duet. He finally turned, unsurprised to see the folded arms. The smug smile was nowhere to be seen, but the care and concern he saw in Nick's eyes made his face grow warm.

"Roddy said you're ready for me?" Barry's swagger broke the moment, and Monroe turned back to the sandwich fixings he'd lain out by the sink.

Everyone piled into Barry's car a little after midnight ("It's Friday!" Holly explained.), and an exhausted Monroe piled the dishes into the sink. He'd forgotten to start the dishwasher, so it was already filled with dirty dishes, and frankly, he was too tired to do more than put the packet of cleanser in the dishwasher, turn it on, and follow Nick upstairs.

He trudged into the bathroom and walked into his bedroom, forgoing the overhead light for the floor lamp next to the bed that Nick had bought on his way home, saying that he was tired of having to get up to turn off the light. He quickly changed into his pajamas, tightening the drawstring on his pants as Nick wandered in, rubbing his hair as he yawned.

Sliding underneath the covers on his side of the bed, Nick said, "Tonight was good, right?"

"Yeah," Monroe admitted, joining Nick and automatically turning toward the Grimm. "It was nice to see Roddy too."

"I think Oberlin's doing him some good."

"He's made some friends," Monroe allowed, pressing his forehead to Nick's.

Nick pulled back. "What's with the tone?"

"I didn't have a tone," Monroe said.

"What?" Nick knew him too well, damnit.

Monroe sighed. "Did you see how closely he and Barry were sitting on the sofa?"

Nick frowned, obviously thinking back.

"Something's going on there."

"Something like –"

"Something like hanky panky."

Nick laughed. "You sound like you're eighty."

"You laugh, but I knew something was going on the way Barry talked about him the other day. I just didn't know exactly what."

"Let's say Barry and Roddy have a thing," Nick allowed. "Would it be so bad?"

"It won't work."

Nick pulled back a little further, and Monroe found himself missing the warmth. "Why not?"

"Roddy still has two and a half years left at college, and who knows what'll happen after that. He could play in an orchestra, travel…. There are so many options. I don't want him to settle down here and do nothing with his music just so he can be with Barry."

"Wow. You already have them married. Maybe they're just experimenting."

Monroe realized maybe he was making more of it than it might be, but he saw the way they were looking at each other. "Maybe," he said grudgingly.

"Is that really the problem, or is it something else?"

Confused, Monroe asked, "Like what?"

Nick sat up and pulled himself back until he was leaning against the headboard. The sheets pooled around his hips, and Monroe found himself a little distracted, wishing it had been too warm for him to wear a t-shirt to bed. "Do you have a problem with two men getting together?"

That blunt question shot Monroe back into the present, and he almost laughed at the question. Here he sat, in bed with another man, imagining that man shirtless, and he was being asked if he were a homophobe? Indignant, he pushed himself up and turned toward Nick. "Of course not!"

"What about the fact that Roddy's a Reinigen and Barry's a Jägerbar?"

"I'm not gonna lie and say that their families and friends are going to do cartwheels if they get together, but seriously, it's more that they're heading in two different directions. Roddy told me tonight that his goal is to one day become a member of the Vienna Philharmonic, and they only take musicians from the State Opera Orchestra. And even then, he has to've played for a minimum of three years for the opera and ballet just to ask to apply! Even now he's working on a complicated flow chart detailing the steps he's going to take in order to make this happen. That kind of dedication can be hell on a mature, established relationship, forget about boys as young as they are. I just don't want Roddy to give up on his dreams for a teenage boyfriend."

Nick shifted, making himself a little more comfortable, crossing his arms. "Isn't that _his_ decision to make?"

"Of course it is, but you know what it's like when you're a teenager, all hormones and bloodlust. Well," Monroe amended, "all hormones at least. You think you're the only person who's ever felt so much, and let's face it, Roddy's not all that experienced, which means that everything is going to feel that much more serious to him.

"And I'm also worried about Barry," Monroe continued before Nick could do more than open his mouth, "How's he going to feel once he realizes that there's no square in the flow chart where his name fits?"

Nick realized that they were getting way too involved in Barry and Roddy's lives, and he didn't even know why he was so upset, but he couldn't let it go. "Maybe Roddy can find a square for Barry." He glared at Monroe's snort. "I don't know why you refuse to even entertain the idea that they might have something more than a teenage flirtation."

"I remember what it was like at that age."

"For you. Maybe they're different!"

"But they probably aren't!"

Nick glared at Monroe. "Why are we arguing about this?"

"I have no idea!"

Nick wasn't sure whose lip curled first, but the next thing he knew, they were laughing.

"Just promise that you won't try to break them up," Nick said, forcing himself to uncross his arms.

"I wouldn't do that!" Monroe glared.

"You just seemed to feel so strongly about it." Nick persisted, despite the fact that a part of him was shouting for him to shut up before he found himself trying to sleep alone in his own bed.

"You know me," Monroe sighed. "I talk a big game, but I'll end up making food for their reception or something."

"And they're back to getting married," Nick said, grinning to take the sting out of his words. "I think the problem is that despite everything, you're a romantic at heart."

" _You're_ the one who's pulling for them."

"But _you're_ the one who keeps taking them from a potential flirtation to getting married, like that's the natural progression. And you've done it _twice."_

"How much did you drink tonight?" Monroe asked. "Did you fall and hit your head?"

"You're just a softie on the inside," Nick teased, "a marshmallow."

"Perhaps we should get you a CT scan. When was your last psychiatric evaluation?"

"A big, sticky, gooey, melted marshmallow," Nick continued blithely.

"I'm going to call Drew tomorrow and get a recommendation."

Suddenly things weren't so funny anymore. "You mean he's not just a furniture expert who can appreciate your forks?"

Monroe blinked.

M

Nick slid back down until he was prone and closed his eyes. "I have a long day tomorrow, better get some sleep." He tried to ignore the feel of Monroe's eyes on him.

"Are you – you're jealous!"

Nick snorted. "Of Wu? Please." He sounded lame even to his own ears.

His body automatically relaxed once he heard the click of the lamp and the feel of Monroe's body lying down next to him, but he couldn't bring himself to roll over, press himself against Monroe as he did every other night.

"Wu didn't rescue me from the bad Grimm or have his ex-partner buy him a house so I'd have a place to live," Monroe said quietly in the darkness. "He's a good guy, but he's not my best friend."

Sighing, Nick rolled over. "I'm not jealous."

"Yeah, well, you don't need to be is all I'm saying. I mean, it's nice to have someone to talk to about stuff that you don't care about, but he's just a human."

Nick smiled in the darkness, pressed closer to Monroe. He told himself that he hadn't needed to hear the words, but he couldn't lie to himself that it hadn't felt good.

The next day Nick found himself calling the cops when he discovered his skip dead in the alley behind the man's favorite bar. Hank and Wu arrived a few minutes later; at Hank's prodding, Nick ended up calling Monroe.

"His name's Phillip. I knew him," Monroe said, surprise in his voice as he bent down over the body. "I mean, we weren't friends or anything, but he was okay for a Pflichttreue. He and I attended the same weider support group before I left." He looked up at Nick. "And he was the guy you were hunting down?"

Nick nodded, showing Monroe the list of charges. "He'd gotten into some pretty dangerous stuff."

"I guess a lot can happen in two years," Monroe conceded, reading the sheet.

Hank walked up to them, and Nick said, "Monroe says the guy was a Pfffl, a Pflick – "

"A Pflickttreue," Monroe said.

Hank blinked. "Gesundheit."

Nick coughed back a laugh as Monroe rolled his eyes. "Do you remember anything about him?"

Monroe frowned, scratching at his cheek. "He was dating someone else from the group. Her name was… Lyla? Layla? Lana! All I remember was that she worked at the First Federal Bank."

Hank nodded, taking notes.

"That was two years ago," Monroe warned.

"It's a start," Hank said. "Do you smell anything special?" He didn't look at Nick, who was glaring at him.

Monroe shook his head. "My sense of smell hasn't really been the same in a while. I mean, I can still smell Drew's cologne, and that other guy uses way too much hair crème, but I can only detect a faint scent from Phillip. And I can't tell you who else might have been around lately." He shrugged. "Sorry."

Hank squeezed Monroe's shoulder, saying, "I guess we'll actually have to do our jobs then. And I should be the one apologizing to you for having to smell Wu from way over here." He looked at Nick, _see, I can handle things delicately, thank you very much_ , before turning and heading toward Wu, who was talking with Skip, the medical examiner.

Bending over the body, Nick took a closer look at the bloody scratches running from the shoulders down to the knees. "Do those look like they could've come from a Jägerbar claw?"

Monroe bent beside him, tilting his head. "I guess." He bent closer, taking a large sniff. He closed his eyes, and stilled.

Beginning to get a bit worried, Nick grabbed his arm. "Hey, you okay?"

Monroe blinked, straightening. "Sorry. He smelled kind of, um, there for a moment." He coughed.

"More proof that the Blutbad's coming back, right?" Nick said, trying for supportive.

"I guess," Monroe said, in a tone that Nick couldn't decifer. "But you're right. I do smell a faint – just a touch – of Jägerbar." He gave Nick an appraising look. "Pretty impressive, Grimm."

Smiling, as he stood, Nick said, "I've learned a fair bit these last few years."

Monroe jerked his attention back to the body, nodding.

"Hey – " He didn't have to be a mind reader to understand the look on Monroe's face. "I had Hank, Renard, and Wu watching my back, and Bud helped me out sometimes too. I did okay on my own."

"You kind of had to," Monroe said.

"I thought we put all of that behind us," Nick said.

"I'm trying," Monroe admitted.

After pulling Monroe upright, Nick walked him back to his car. "We got distracted last night, and I forgot to ask you about your call to the diner guy." Nick had noticed Monroe's quiet step outside while the kids screamed back to some movie they'd put on the television.

"He wanted to meet with me this morning, said he had a proposal for me." Monroe leaned against his new car, flipping his keys around in his hand.

"When are you meeting him?"

"About an hour and a half ago," Monroe said, smiling faintly. "He finally realized that he might have given Tony a little too much to handle."

"So, what? He wanted your advice?"

"Actually," Monroe looked down for a second before looking back up at Nick, "he offered me a job."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He wants me to be the manager."

"Wow." Nick went for noncommittal, trying to gauge Monroe's reaction.

"It'd be a lot of work at first, because, you know, Tony's not even a good cook yet. And I'd have a lot to learn, what with ordering food and reworking the menu and doing scheduling. I'd have to do most of the cooking until I trained Tony properly and found at least two other cooks…" He sighed. "Who am I kidding? What do I know about the restaurant business?"

There it was, the look in his eyes that said Monroe wanted the job. "You were able to help out Tony by just giving him some pointers that one day," Nick said, wrapping his hand around Monroe's wrist. "You can do the job; the question is, do you want to do it?"

"It would be a challenge, and I'm not used to just sitting around…"

"What about your clocks?"

Monroe sighed. "I just don't have the concentration right now. And my hands." He held them up, Nick's hand still wrapped around one wrist.

"I haven't seen them shaking lately," Nick offered.

"That's gotten better," Monroe confirmed.

Nick held up the one of Monroe's hands, staring at it. He loved how gentle Monroe's large fingers could be when handling delicate pieces of machinery in his clocks, and even the strange puckers of skin in the nail beds didn't detract from the beauty of the hidden strength. He pulled the hands closer, focusing on one of the fingers. "Is that part of a nail?"

"What? Where?" Monroe jerked his hand towards his face, bringing Nick along for the ride, until they pressed against each other, staring at the sliver barely peeking at them. "You think that's a nail?"

"I do!"

They stared at each other, grinning, pressed against each other, holding hands, until the sound of Hank's clearing his voice reminded them of their surroundings.

Nick stepped back reluctantly, already missing the warmth of Monroe's body.

"We're gonna head back to the precinct."

"Let me call Maddy so she knows what happened to her skip, and I'll meet you there to do the paperwork," Nick said, ignoring Hank's grin. Turning back to Monroe, he said, "We'll talk more at dinner?"

"Sure. We also have to finish walking for the… you know," Monroe said.

Sighing, Nick said, "I'll get more beer."

After saying goodbye to Nick and Hank, Monroe got into his purple car, waved at Wu on his way out, and disappeared down the street.

"So…" Hank said, still staring down the street, "still peeing around the property, are you?"

Nick sighed. "I tell you way too much, you know that?"


	17. Chapter 17

The next few weeks were busy for both Blutbad and Grimm. Thanks to some helpful chat groups he'd discovered, Monroe found he was quite enjoying the challenge of running a diner. At first, he spent most of his time there, arriving before dark to accept the food shipment, training Tony, and working as cook for the evening shifts. He interviewed potential cooks during breaks throughout the day – the only breaks he seemed to take – and seemed to be close to making some decisions.

Nick found himself drawn into the Phillip Montrose murder case, spending hours with Hank and Wu down at the station. He continued to work with Maddy, his bailbondsman, and managed to run a Schakal out of town before his planned jewelry heist.

They saw each other sporadically, Nick sitting at the diner's counter to scarf down a burger, Monroe keeping him company whenever he had a free moment. Monroe managed to stop by the precinct a couple of times with coffee and donuts, becoming one of the most welcome visitors in the place. They kept track of their 'kids' separately, Nick stopping by for quick visits, and Monroe treating them so often at the diner that they had their own special table.

Two months later, Monroe had finally hired his evening cook and was comfortable leaving him to run the place, and Montrose's murderer been located and arrested (a Raub-Kondor that girlfriend Lana's wealthy father had hired to keep Montrose away from her). The two found themselves draped across the sofa one Friday, staring unseeingly at some detective show on television.

"I'm so tired that even my toenails hurt," Nick groaned.

"I know what you mean," Monroe said.

Rolling his head so he could look at the Blutbad, Nick asked, "You do?"

"If I had the energy, I'd wave my fingernails at you."

"That's fantastic, man!"

"Yeah, give me a little time, and I'll be chopping veggies without a knife."

That actually sounded kind of cool. "You can do that?"

Monroe rolled his eyes.

They continued to stare at each other, the sound from the television muted in the background. Nick wanted to reach out, touch the shadows underneath Monroe's eyes, run his fingers through the disheveled hair. And from what he could tell from the expression underneath Monroe's fatigue, his actions wouldn't be unwelcome.

They heard a knock on the door.

"I don't have the energy to host tonight," Monroe groaned.

"Just sit perfectly still," Nick whispered. "Maybe they'll go away."

The knock sounded again, and they stared at each other, hope in their eyes that maybe the person would give up soon.

The door flew open, and they heard Barry shout, "Hey!"

"I thought you locked the door," Monroe muttered to Nick.

"I was carrying the beers. I figured you'd done it."

"We're gonna ended up getting rolled one night by regular humans, and I'm never gonna live it down," Monroe complained.

"Hey," Barry said, walking into the living room, smile on his face, hands shoved in his pockets. "I knocked."

"You sure did," Nick said.

"Did you know that your door was unlocked?"

"We do now," Monroe muttered.

"We stopped off at the diner, but you weren't there, so we figured you'd be here."

"We?" Nick rolled his eyes toward the door, although he couldn't see much since he was still disinclined to take the effort to actually move his head.

"Yeah, the rest of the gang're outside saying hello to the detectives."

"A party. Hooray." Monroe said unenthusiastically.

Barry looked at the two of them, frowning. "Are you guys okay?"

"Hello?" Hank's voice called from the front of the house.

"They're in here. I think maybe they're broken or something."

"We're not broken," Nick said, trying not to grin at Monroe's eye roll. "We're just tired."

"It's a good thing that we brought food then," Hank said, strolling into view, hands filled with bags.

"Chinese!" Monroe said happily.

"And Wu has pizza for the kids," Hank said.

Nick's stomach rumbled. "That sounds fantastic. And we still have some beers in the fridge."

"Awesome!" Barry said, heading for the kitchen.

Hank huffed out a laugh. "Don't worry. He'll be having soda like the rest of them." He followed Barry toward the kitchen, and Nick heard more laughter as the others entered the house, Wu in the middle of a story.

"What's wrong with you two?" Wu asked as he abruptly interrupted his tale. His eyes mimicked Barry's as he looked between the two on the couch. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were exhausted." He grinned, continuing with his story as he led Hanson and Gracie into the kitchen.

Holly remained, curling up on Monroe's far side, burying her nose in his neck. "You smell better," she said, quietly. "Tired, but better." With a grin, she slid off the sofa and skipped into the kitchen.

Monroe groaned as they listened to cabinet doors opening and glass clinking. "The kitchen's going to be a bitch to clean up." He eyeballed Nick. "You think they'd leave if we asked nicely?"

"They have food, and I bet they're going to bring it to us," Nick reminded him. "We can't even think of kicking them out until we've eaten."

"Yeah, I was a little worried that they'd find us dead in a week, still lying here, too tired to get up and grab some food."

Nick laughed, and even that tired him out a little bit. "Maybe we'll get some energy once we've eaten."

Their guests dragged in chairs and sat on the floor so everyone could eat comfortably in the living room. Finding a program everyone wanted to watch turned out to be an impossibility, so the kids and Wu got to watch their choice first (some teen show about werewolves that had Monroe's eyes rolling so hard that Nick was afraid they were going to fall out, forcing them to pause the show while everyone searched for them in sofa cushions), followed by Hank, Monroe, and Nick's choice (the new "Sherlock", which the kids actually seemed to enjoy – the jury was still out with Wu).

Finally Nick's bladder made a demand, and he forced himself toward the stairs. Hank volunteered to go with him ("I have to go too, and this way I can make sure you don't fall asleep on the stairs or something.").

"You didn't show us up here the other night," Hank called out curiously from behind the bathroom door.

"We haven't really done much," Nick confessed, standing back as Hank exited the bathroom so he could enter.

"You mind if I snoop?"

Nick didn't bother to answer since he could hear a door opening. He wasn't surprised. Hank was a detective; he detected. It wasn't something they could discard and leave at the office; it was a part of their genetic makeup.

Finishing in the bathroom, he found Hank in Monroe's room.

"I never picked Monroe for being a slob," Hank said, eyes on a pile of dirty clothes in a corner.

Nick pulled his longing glance away from the comfortable California King and said, "Those are mine. It drives him nuts, actually." He laughed and turned to face an inscrutable looking Hank. "What?"

"Your clothes are in his bedroom?"

Nick felt his face grow hot. "It's not like that."

"So you aren't sleeping together?"

"Well, we are," Nick conceded, "but that's all we're doing. Sleeping." In fact, he thought to himself, the only time they'd managed to spend together actually physically close recently was when one of them climbed into bed with the other fast asleep, only to wake up alone. It had happened to both of them way too often for Nick's taste.

"Really," Hank said, using that tone usually reserved to entice a perp to talk.

"I know that tone," Nick said.

"Hey," Hank said, hands up, "you say you're sleeping, then you're sleeping."

Nick held out for less than five seconds. "Monroe was having nightmares when he first got back, and my being there helped."

"So he's still having these nightmares?"

Silence.

"Shut up."

Hank laughed, clapping Nick on the shoulder. "Man, I'm not judging. In fact, I'm surprised that you two haven't already been sexing it up."

"It's not like that between us," Nick protested, ignoring the fact that he'd kind of like it to be.

Hank eyeballed him, knowing what he wasn't saying. "Why not?" He leaned against the doorframe, quickly glancing downstairs before returning his attention to Nick and whispering, "Look, it's obvious that you two have a connection."

"We're friends," Nick said staunchly.

"You two always had some kind of connection, even before everything happened two years ago. I'm not saying it would've gone anywhere then – you had Juliette; he had Rosalee. But things are different now. You two are different now. You're sharing a house, sharing a bed… and you're both a complete mess without the other one."

"Our friendship –"

"Friends are great, but why miss out on a chance for something more?" Hank sighed. "You're going to make me say it, aren't you?" He pressed at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "You two complete each other."

Horrified, Nick stared at him. "I can't believe you just said that."

"Hey, you made me," Hank reminded him.

Sitting on the bed, Nick said, "I just… we've been friends for so long that I don't know how to take that step."

"Woo him."

Nick blinked up at Hank.

"Woo. Him. I may not be able to sustain a marriage, but I certainly know how to rope 'em in. You know this guy. You know what he likes, what makes him happy. Give him those things. And then, you know," Hank waggled his eyebrows, "you go in for the sexing."

Nick fell back on the bed, groaning. "Please stop saying that word."

"What? Sexing?" Hank laughed as Nick groaned again. "And don't think I don't see what you're doing. Get up. You have guests downstairs; it's rude to fall asleep on them." He grabbed Nick's arm, pulling him back to standing.

Groaning, Nick rubbed a hand over his face. "What about when the guests invite themselves over?"

"Hey, we brought food," Hank protested, gently pushing Nick downstairs. "I saw you two. You would've sat on that sofa all night, your stomachs fighting over which one was grumbling the loudest."

M

Monroe watched Nick head upstairs with Hank, wanting to ask them to take him with them. It wasn't that he didn't like the company – despite himself, he'd grown attached to the kids and to Drew. But it was just, now that he'd eaten, all Monroe wanted was to curl up in bed beside Nick and sleep for a few days. He'd missed spending time with just Nick, missed going to sleep – and then waking up – with Nick in the house.

"Hey, they're just going to the bathroom, not running away," Drew said, nudging Monroe's shoulder.

Jerking his focus from the stairs, where he'd probably been staring stupidly, Monroe shrugged a shoulder. "Nick's probably up there figuring out a way he can fall asleep."

"With guests downstairs? How rude!" Drew laughed, slurping down the last of his soda. He adjusted his straw and stood, calling out, "who needs more soda?" Shrugging at the choruses of, "I do!", he muttered, "I'll just bring all of the bottles in here, which is what we should've done in the first place."

Monroe stared balefully at the pile of empty pizza boxes teetering on the edge of the coffee table, takeout Chinese containers shoved together on the opposite side, empty beer bottles creating sweat rings in the center. He'd bought the furniture knowing that everything was going to have to be durable. Their furniture had to be able to handle a Grimm, a couple of Blutbads, a Jägerbar, two police detectives, some human runaways, and a Reinigen who visited during school holidays. And of course there was the fact that more than half of that crew were rowdy young adults – including Drew, if Monroe counted maturity levels. Smiling smugly at himself, Monroe placed his now-empty bottle on the table next to the others and burrowed deeper into the sofa.

"Hey! No sleeping!" Monroe's eyes shot open guiltily as Drew stood over him, his bottle pointed accusingly at him. "Bad host!"

Monroe handed him the remote, and Drew smiled. "Well now, that changes things." He settled in the chair beside Monroe. "Okay, guys, let's see what's happening over on the CW."

Monroe stifled a groan, because while he wasn't quite sure what the CW was, he had the feeling that nothing on it was made with him in mind.

A push against him had him opening his eyes a crack to find Nick squished against him on the sofa, the entire other side completely empty. "If I don't get to sleep, you don't get to sleep."

"Mmm," Monroe agreed, eyes closing.

Another nudge. "I'm serious, Monroe!"

Sighing, Monroe forced his eyes open. They automatically shot to the television screen, where a man in a costume fell off a building. "What are we watching?"

"Do you really want to know?"

Realizing that he didn't, Monroe looked at the rapt faces around the room, stuttering to a stop at Hank, who was just as engrossed. "Nick, we need to get out of here before that show takes over our brains too."

"This is what we're going to do," Nick whispered, his warm breath dancing along Monroe's neck, waking him up and sending goosebumps down his body. "I'm going to pick up some of the pizza boxes, and you take the empties. We'll put them in the kitchen and then sneak upstairs."

"And leave them down here alone?"

Nick's shoulder shrugged. "They'll either duke it out over the sofa and spots on the floor or go home. Hank knows the alarm code."

And that's when it finally hit Monroe that all of these bodies in various reclined states in their living room weren't guests, they were family.

"On the count of three."

They lay in bed less than ten minutes later, Monroe's bedroom door locked to keep out nosy cell phone cameras bent on future blackmail attempts.

Now that he was laying with Nick, Monroe found himself wide awake. Fatigue still pressed in on him, but he was able to push it back a little so he could enjoy this time he'd missed in the last month or so. They lay there, foreheads touching, eyes closed, like they'd done so many nights before. He'd missed this, so very much in the past three weeks.

"You know," he whispered, "we could buy some used bed frames, find a good mattress sale, and maybe some dressers for the other bedrooms."

Nick huffed a laugh. "Are you already moving them in?"

"No," Monroe said, "but if they're going to be here anyway, it might be nice to have them sleeping in actual beds rather than downstairs on the floor."

"Are we including Wu and Hank in this?"

"We probably should," Monroe said, reshuffling bedrooms in his mind.

"I think Hank's still angling for the basement. We create a little adult cave down there where we can actually watch grown-up shows and where Hank and Wu – when he's finished watching TV upstairs with the kids – could sleep if they needed, and they'd be set."

"Even with Gracie and Holly sharing a room, we're one bedroom short."

Nick paused, and Monroe opened his eyes, watching his face in the moonlight, once again struck at the Grimm's beauty. Eventually, he had to ask, "What?"

"We could double up the guys or just use my bedroom."


	18. Chapter 18

There, Nick thought. He'd put it out there. His pounding heart seemed to rise into his throat, the throbbing echoing throughout his head. He felt Monroe's gaze on his face, but coward that he was, he kept his closed. He didn't want Monroe to see just how important it felt. Of course, he conceded, Monroe could probably feel his heartbeat too –

"It's not like you use it," Monroe mused, his tone just as casual, cutting into Nick's thoughts and causing him to relax slightly. "We could move your dresser in here, maybe get you a clothesbasket where you might actually put your dirty clothes."

Nick smiled, scotching closer to Monroe, enjoying Monroe's arm tightening around him. He'd really missed this. A thought suddenly hit him. "You think this is why Hank chose such a big house?"

"Because he knew we'd need the space?" Monroe was thoughtful. "So now he's a cop who can see into the future?"

"No," Nick said, "he's just a really good cop." He smiled, making a mental note to thank his former partner.

After providing a late breakfast for their extended family the next day, Nick and Monroe finally got the house back to themselves before noon.

"I have to go into work for a few hours," Nick said apologetically.

"That actually works for me," Monroe said. "I need to go put in some time at the diner, work on the schedule and the next food order."

"We'll meet back here for dinner?" Nick found that he really didn't want to develop a habit where he and Monroe were more roommates than friends.

"Sounds good. I'll cook."

"You sure? You're going to be at the diner all day."

Monroe shrugged. "It's not like I'm going to be doing anything more than paperwork. Besides, I actually like cooking for us."

Nick didn't even want to begin to understand that. As far as he was concerned, cooking was throwing a frozen burrito into the microwave; gourmet was actually using the stove. Sure, he could cook basic stuff when necessary, but he never really enjoyed it. He did, however, enjoy watching Monroe cook, the way his shoulders would relax, the small smile on his face as they talked. He made a mental note to try to get home early.

The day passed quickly. It turned out that the skip he was looking for, Brian Holmes, was a Skalengeck, and it didn't take long for Nick to find him hiding out in the storage room of his favorite bar. It had been a bit of a brawl when Holmes had rabbited, running down the block, but Nick had managed to chase him into a pawnshop, tackling and cuffing him fairly easily. As he'd pulled Holmes up from the floor, he'd glanced to the left of the startled shopkeeper and stopped thoughtfully. "Huh."

M

Sometimes Monroe just wanted to shove his head in the oven, he thought as he put out a fire that some kids had inadvertently started behind the diner when they tried to smoke some cigarettes and had gotten scared when he'd opened the back door to put take out some garbage bags. It might not have been that bad if an hour earlier one of the servers hadn't thrown up on table six and promptly burst into tears because she was pregnant, and her baby daddy had skipped town. Last week's deposit hadn't balanced out until he found a note that the nighttime cook had slipped under his office door. He supposed he could be thankful that it had stuck to his shoe when he'd scooched his chair underneath this desk.

Monroe finally left the diner, smelling faintly of smoke but satisfied about the schedules he'd posted for the next two weeks and the new inbox he'd hung on the outside of his office door. He'd also e-mailed the balanced financials to his boss and for the first time felt like maybe he was getting a hang out of this whole food service thing.

Nick had texted that he was going to go for a quick run before dinner, so Monroe figured that he wouldn't see his Grimm until closer to dinnertime, which worked well. He took a quick shower to get the diner smell off of him and was on his way into the kitchen when he got a sense of… something wrong in the dining room. He poked his head into the room, expecting it to still be empty after Wu had convinced the store to take the table and chairs back. Hank had sent him the link to the place that built customized dining room sets, but Monroe hadn't had a chance to take a look at it yet or even try to find a replacement.

Blinking in surprise, Monroe stepped into the room and walked around the large Pilates machine in the middle of the room. He had to admit that as much as he enjoyed the mat exercises, he'd missed his Reformer. To have one suddenly appear in his house took a little consideration.

In the end, he didn't really have to think about it at all. There was only one person who knew about his routines, about how much he used his Reformer, only one person who would realize without Monroe having to say a word that he'd missed it.

Monroe grabbed his keys.

M

By the time Nick walked into the house, sweaty from his jog, he could smell his favorite dish throughout the house. Even better was Monroe's large smile and happy hug. Neither man had to even look in the direction of the dining room to understand what was not being said.

Two weeks later, Nick was walking with Hank down the street to a diner for lunch when he stopped at a store.

Hank, who'd been talking, walked a few more steps before realizing that Nick was no longer with him and had to turn back. "What's up?" He stood beside Nick and stared. "Really?"

"His burned in the fire," Nick said. "And he's really good."

Hank leaned closer to the window. "It says it's used, but I have no idea if that's a good price."

Nick shrugged. "I'll do a little search on the Internet, maybe stop by here on the way home if it's a deal."

"That's kind of a big gift outside of birthdays and Christmas."

"He really liked the Pilates machine thing I got him from the pawn shop."

Shrugging, Hank said, "Well, when I said, 'woo him', I was thinking more of candlelit dinners and flowers, but whatever works for you two."

Nick laughed. In the time since he'd brought Monroe home, he'd become a firm believer in timing and fate and destiny. Renard and his connections had helped Nick get to Monroe before it had been too late – and he didn't try to fool himself that Monroe'd had much time left in the clutches of the Evil Grimm. And he'd almost fallen on the Reformer at the pawnshop – couldn't get much more obvious than that.

He knew it was corny, but he liked providing for Monroe, giving him things that he wanted but would hesitate to buy for himself.

"He got me a new Doppelarmbrust," Nick said fondly, remembering how after a considerably wet day, he'd walked into the house shouting a hello to Monroe as he headed straight up the stairs, taking his time in a warm shower, before going into their bedroom – they'd already moved his dresser in there – and changing into a long sleeved t-shirt, sweats, and thick socks. He'd slowly padded down the stairs, making a mental note to thank Monroe for cleaning the water on the floor, when he'd stopped. A flash of something on the coffee table had caught his eye, and he changed direction, smiling when he saw the crossbow. He'd picked it up, admiring it in the remaining light entering the room from the window. The little white card attached to it with a scrawled, "For Nick" had only made him smile harder. "The two bolts were already loaded."

Hank sighed. "Is this a guy thing? Or maybe it's a Grimm thing. After bonding over fighting Wesen, I suppose flowers and dinners would be a little anticlimactic."

Nick recalled evenings years ago after a tough day at work or an especially trying incident with a Wesen, he'd find himself slowly melting into Monroe's sofa as Monroe sat with his cello, slowly sliding the bow over the strings. It'd be nice to have the place filled with music again, and Monroe and Roddy could jam together – or whatever classical musicians called it.

He said as much to Hank, who mused, "Maybe you do have a little romance in you after all."

The one thing that made Nick pause was the knowledge that Monroe hadn't given any indication that his hands had fully healed. He hadn't seen Monroe's hands shake lately, but maybe he'd missed it happening, and he didn't want Monroe to feel anything but happiness at his gifts.

In the end, he'd done the research, bought the cello, and snuck it into the small closet in the basement.

M

"I'm dying to go for a run," Nick said the following weekend, stretching in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. "Wanna come with?"

"Actually," Monroe said, "I need to call the diner, make sure it's still standing." He eyeballed Nick's clothing, trying not to spend too much time over Nick's well-muscled calves. "It's still winter, you know."

"Hey, it's almost April, and it's a beautiful day outside."

"I'm just saying, you own a pair of sweats for a reason," Monroe grumbled.

Nick laughed. "Says the man who doesn't even own a pair of shorts."

"I don't own a lot of things," Monroe protested, choosing to ignore the fact that he didn't own a pair of shorts two years ago either. "Besides, a sweaty Reformer is pretty nasty. I wipe it down every morning, but it would be totally nasty if I worked out in shorts." Just the idea of it almost made him shudder.

"Good point," Nick allowed, unplugging his phone and grabbing his keys from the island.

"Wait," Monroe said, suddenly feeling anxious about Nick running by himself. "Let me go change; I'll call on the way."

"You don't have to – "

"Two minutes!" Monroe ran up the stairs.

Smiling, Nick picked up his phone, checking his e-mail. He couldn't help but shake his head at a text from Hank containing three words: "wine and dine". Maybe Hank was right. At the very least, it wouldn't hurt. After a moment's consideration, he changed his plans. "How about we make a day of it?" He called upstairs.

Monroe tromped downstairs a few seconds later, pulling a sweatshirt over his head. "I'm not running all day," he muttered.

"The trail I'm thinking about's a little over three miles, but we can stop off on the way back, have dinner somewhere."

Monroe looked them both over. "We're going to be sweaty, you're in shorts, I'm in sweats…"

"A picnic then," Nick amended.

"I know you seem to be under this delusion that winter's over, but it's still pretty cold out there."

"If I get cold, I'll just have to use you to warm me up," Nick teased, testing the waters as he looked up at Monroe from beneath his lashes.

Monroe's ears grew red as he fumbled for his phone. "Let's just go already."

The day turned out better than Nick had expected, especially considering it was planned on the fly. He refused to tell Monroe where they were going, and the Blutbad continued making guesses each time they passed a road sign. A little less than ninety minutes later, Nick pulled into a small parking area, grabbing an annual pass out of his glove compartment and hanging it from his rearview mirror.

"Okay, so this is going to be more of a hike than a run," he admitted, turning toward Monroe.

"I gathered that," Monroe said, his small smile belying his rough tone.

"But I'm prepared," Nick said. "I have some stuff in the trunk." The last time he'd remembered hiking was when he'd gone after a rogue Dickfellig before he'd gotten Monroe back. He'd barely made it back alive after that one.

He still had the blue backpack in the trunk, filled with bottled water, energy bars, a small medical kit, and a few choice weapons.

"Hey," Monroe said, pulling out a dusty green backpack. "I remember this! We were looking for that Hasslich, the one who'd messed with Bud."

Nick laughed. "He'd fallen into that muddy spot and was horrified that it had ruined his suit."

"That didn't stop him from trying to take your head off, though." Monroe put the first aid kit and half the water into his backpack.

"Getting those cuffs on him was a bitch." Nick grabbed a few of Monroe's water bottles and put them back into his pack.

"If you'd killed him, you wouldn't have had to worry about that," Monroe reminded him, this time taking all of the water, leaving Nick with the power bars and a sweatshirt. He gave Nick a look and quickly zipped up the pack. "And you wanted me to put him in my car!"

"Taking him ourselves instead of waiting for the cruiser would've saved us about an hour." Nick decided to stop fighting Monroe, zipping up his own pack and closing the trunk.

"An hour that I would've had to use cleaning all of that mud out of my car. And let's not even talk about the Hasslich smell! It just burrows in like a tick on a hound."

They continued to banter, adjusting their conversations as they encountered other hikers along the way. They reached the lake, relaxing and eating a couple of energy bars before heading back to the car.

Along the way, Monroe had gotten hot, pulling off his sweatshirt and shoving it into his backpack. They'd used it to cover the ground while they'd rested at the lake, and it had ended up on Nick, his fingers disappearing underneath the long sleeves. Neither had mentioned it, or Nick's own sweatshirt in his backpack, although Nick felt Monroe's eyes on him more than once. He'd decided he would have no problems acknowledging that he liked having Monroe's smell wrapped around him.

"It looks like a picnic is out," Monroe said as he put on his seatbelt. He angled his head awkwardly to stare up at the darkening sky. "We probably have about half an hour before it dumps on us."

"Don't count out the picnic just yet," Nick said, starting the car.

The rain started falling just about the time Monroe had predicted, sheets distorting the window, forcing Nick to slow to a crawl. He was thankful that Monroe remained silent, allowing him to focus on getting them home safely. Pulling up, he got the passenger side as close to the door as he could. "Go ahead inside. I'll be back."

"Where're you going?"

"I'll be back." Nick knew he was being cryptic, but he wanted to surprise Monroe.

"Okay," Monroe said, drawing out the word. "I'll throw something together – "

"Nope," Nick said. "I got it covered. Take a shower, relax. I'm in charge of dinner tonight."

Monroe stared at Nick for a second, his brow furrowed. Nick just gave him a benign smile and waited until Monroe had gotten safely into the house before he pulled away.


	19. Chapter 19

Monroe absently closed and locked the door behind him and headed up the stairs for a shower. Nick had been giving out strange signals all day, throwing Monroe a little off balance. It felt like he was flirting, but Monroe had never really been good at reading those kinds of signals. Rosalee – he had to swallow a moment to adjust to the sense of loss he felt even after two years – Rosalee had practically thrown herself at him before he'd realized she'd been interested. And it had been completely different with Angelina. They'd grown up together, their hormones building up inside them until one day they'd taken a look at each other and realized that they had to come together or spontaneously combust. It hadn't started out as romantic, just rutting together like the teenaged wolves they were. Afterward, they'd just gone about their business until they'd found themselves alone again. Eventually, it had become a love of sorts, one forged in violence and blood that always left Monroe physically satiated but empty inside. A part of Monroe missed the simplicity about his life back then, the high he got from the violent sex and the bloodlust, but he wouldn't go back to that even if Angelina were still around to tempt him. He'd found something so much better, more satisfying than he'd ever had, something that kept him grounded when temptations walked past in shades of red.

Turning weider had been one of the most simple, yet most difficult decisions in his life. He'd gone against his upbringing, all that he'd known and been raised to believe, in the hope that by becoming a better man, he'd fill up that space inside. And it had been hard. He'd moved far away from his family and his mistakes, starting fresh. But he'd been alone, without a support system, figuring it out as he went along. He'd tried meditation, raw meat, cooked meat, raw food diets, yoga. He'd attempted writing in a journal, playing various instruments, taking online college courses. Slowly he put his life together like he was working a puzzle, shifting pieces until they fit just right, discarding others that didn't seem to apply to the portion of the picture he was attempting to create.

And before he'd met Nick, he'd done it, carved out this new existence for himself. Everyday, it was the same. He woke, did his Pilates, had breakfast, ran errands while most people were busy at their jobs, returned home to work on his clocks, had lunch, worked until dinnertime, ate in front of a book or the television – mostly PBS documentaries and cooking shows – and played his cello before retiring to bed. It was a lonely existence, but that was a small price to pay for the peace of mind that he found in his routine. He awoke every morning in the same bed instead of naked somewhere in the forest, blood under his fingernails, bruises covering his body. He fed his body organic grains and fruits, making sure his meal was balanced and filling. He engaged his brain by reading and playing the cello. He kept to himself; he'd gone days without ever speaking to another person.

Making a living had been tough. He'd gone around putting his business card on every bulletin board he could find, making contact with the local pawn shops and antique stores, taking every job available. Luckily, he didn't have to have much contact with his customers, and in such an exclusive field, word spread fairly quickly once he'd completed some jobs and left the customers happy. Turned out, most clock aficionados appreciated his brisk, no-nonsense manner and tended to keep their conversations brief.

So he existed, using his routine to keep his inner wolf contained. It had been enough.

He mused over his change in circumstances as he absently showered the sweat of the day off himself. Nick had come crashing into his life, and suddenly just existing wasn't enough anymore. The Grimm refused to leave him alone, dragging him back into the world, making him care about things outside the boundaries of his property. Suddenly Nick was asking him to talk some sense to a rat violinist and dragging him into the woods where a child Blutbad refused to let him go. Despite all his attempts to keep to his strict regimen, he began to feel alive again. He became a part of life, of the Grimm's pack. He'd fallen in love with a Fuchsbau and enjoyed helping her mix potions in her shop. He spent his evenings getting dirty, fighting back-to-back with Nick, and later, with Hank and Renard of all people. Once she'd learned about and had time to absorb Nick's Other Life, Juliette had jumped in with both feet, becoming a true friend. And then crazy Troubel had landed on Nick's doorstep, another orphan in need of a family.

The water started to cool, and Monroe gratefully pulled his mind away from the inevitable destruction that followed.

As he got dressed, he thought about how he'd returned to Portland a shaky shadow of himself, just counting the days until he could run away again and do the penance that he deserved. But now, only a few months later, his inner wolf was starting to rise again inside. His nails had almost all grown back, and he couldn't remember the last time his hands had shaken uncontrollably or he'd had a panic attack. He was finally taking to heart that maybe it would be okay for him to find happiness again, that maybe he didn't deserve to live in misery.

He dried off and dressed in a pair of comfortable corduroys and a flannel shirt draped over a t-shirt and was heading down the stairs in bare feet when he heard his phone ringing. Nick had programmed the ringtone himself, Bonnie Tyler's "Holding Out For a Hero"; it never failed to make Monroe roll his eyes. One night at dinner in a crowded restaurant, Nick had hidden behind a plant and given Monroe a call. He'd laughed about the other guests' reactions for hours. Monroe hadn't seen the humor in it and had vowed to change the tone. Once he figured out how. He'd made a mental note to ask Drew or one of the kids for help, but so far, he hadn't remembered when any of them were around.

"Seriously, this ring tone has to go," Monroe grumbled into the phone. It only took two wordless pants from Nick for Monroe to scoop his keys off the counter and head toward the door. "Nick, where are you?" He tried to keep his voice solid and calm, hoping Nick didn't hear the faint tremble.

More panting.

"Nick!" Monroe jammed the keys in the ignition, but he didn't know where to go. Nick had been intentionally vague, so Monroe didn't even know if he should make a left or right turn out of the driveway. Desperate, he rolled down his window and stuck his head out of the car. He closed his eyes, focusing as he inhaled. After a few seconds, once he was sure he'd caught the scent, he put the phone to his ear. "I'm coming, Nick. Just hold on." Tossing the phone onto his passenger seat, Monroe turned on the car and raced down the driveway, praying he'd get to Nick in time.

Three hours later, Monroe sat in a chair beside Nick's hospital bed, ice pack over his right eye. He hadn't realized he'd fallen into an exhausted trance until he blinked and saw a concerned Hank standing in front of him. "Hey," he whispered.

Hank pulled up a chair beside Monroe and turned to him. "What happened?"

"Skalengecks," Monroe said, shuddering.

"Those lizard things?"

Monroe nodded. By the time he'd skidded to a stop in the park's parking lot, he'd been in a frenzy, the air around him filled with the iron tinge of blood, Nick's blood. He barely remembered grabbing supplies from his trunk before running toward the combined smell of Nick and a Skalengeck.

It'd turned out to be two Skalengecks, actually, and they were looking for Nick, who'd evidently managed to get away from them – but not before they'd hurt him somehow. Monroe's focus had been on finding Nick, which he'd done quickly, controlling the rage rising inside him at the sight of blood smeared along Nick's face, his eyes closed. After a quick inventory, Monroe came to the conclusion that the wound that needed the most attention was Nick's bloodied shoulder. Keeping track of the Skalengecks, who were now beating the undergrowth with sticks, Monroe quickly wrapped Nick's torn- up shoulder. He finished and pressed a hand against Nick's cheek, realizing that the only things Nick's blood inspired inside him were an anger and a thirst for vengeance. No one messed with his Grimm.

One of Nick's hands had come up to rest against Monroe's, pressing Monroe's hand firmer into his cheek. His eyes fluttering, Nick smiled faintly.

"I'll be right back," Monroe'd whispered, pulling away.

Nick had held on to Monroe's hand a moment longer, saying so much with just a squeeze.

Monroe'd squeezed back, finally letting go and standing, feeling himself woge while Skalengecks had their backs to him.

It wasn't difficult to reach inside and let the wolf out, mere seconds before he was on four legs, growling, leaping, tearing and scratching. It'd felt like he'd taken a large breath, held it, and let it out for the first time in years. He reveled in the screams, swallowing a tongue whole, piercing an eyeball with one of his nails and flicking it against a tree. The blood flowed freely, sweetly into his mouth, down his throat.

A part of him thought he should feel at least a small frisson of remorse, but ignored it to concentrate on getting Nick to help.

M

Nick had awakened as Monroe related his story – with the ending heavily edited, he was sure – to Hank, but he'd only had the energy to listen, eyes closed. Now that he'd heard Monroe's side of things, Nick was starting to remember. Funny enough, the first memory to return was right after Monroe had arrived, squeezing his hand before woging and stepping up to the remaining Skalengecks. As much as he'd wanted to help, he'd known that going out there would've made him a liability. So instead, he'd managed to pull himself up so he could rest his head against a tree, an awkward position that made his shoulder hurt like hell, but he could see the battle going on in front of him, which was his objective.

He'd only meant to stop off at the grocery store for supplies for an indoor picnic when he'd spotted a man running down the road toward him. By this time, the rain had slowed to a gentle mist, the ensuing fog limiting the visibility. The man had come level with the car before Nick realized two things: First, the man was actually a Skalengeck, and second, he was being chased by two other Skalengecks. It had taken a few seconds later for him to learn one more thing: the chase was just a ruse to get them close enough to attack Nick before he could figure out what was happening.

He'd managed to call Monroe as they fought their way into his locked car, and he fought back as much as he could as two of them dragged him into the forest while the third shouted something about their not starting until he'd ditched the car and caught up with them. It hadn't been easy, since the only weapon he'd had on him was the gun he'd pulled from a small shelf underneath his seat – and they'd snagged it immediately.

But he was a Grimm with experience under his belt, and he'd managed to grab a pretty hefty stick and hit one of the Skalengecks in the head. Fortunately, it had been the one with the gun, and Nick had reached for it, grabbing it just as he felt pressure on his ankle, and his body was dragged even further across the ground. Quickly, he turned and shot the Skalengeck standing over him three times before the other one kicked the gun out of his hand.

By this time, the Skalengeck who'd moved his car had returned and pulled out a wicked looking knife. Nick had managed to get in a few good licks before he'd felt the sharp pain of the blade in his shoulder.

Things had gone downhill shortly after that.


	20. Chapter 20

The sound of a car driving up and idling in the area had distracted the Skalengecks enough for Nick to stagger away, dragging his bad leg behind him. He'd dropped behind a log, pulled himself behind a tree. He thought he'd lost a little time after that, remembering opening his eyes to find the best sight ever: Monroe's concerned face. He watched as Monroe's eyes flickered toward the Skalengecks, and he knew that they weren't going to get off easy. The former cop inside of him didn't make a noise as Monroe woged and leapt on top of one of the Skalengecks.

Watching Monroe was a revelation. Nick had been in many fights with Monroe, hell, they'd literally fought back to back, and he knew that Monroe was a deadly force – anyone who could pull off an arm wasn't someone to be taken lightly – but this was altogether different. The Monroe he knew, the weider vegetarian Blutbad who enjoyed microbrews and organic fruit became this wolf filled with rage and righteous indignation. He ripped into one of the Skalengecks, tearing him apart with his teeth and claws, his growls getting deeper with each shake of his head. He'd stepped on the Skalengeck Nick had shot, who hadn't moved from the ground, and ignored the third until he'd gotten stabbed in the side.

Nick had winced, knowing firsthand how it felt having that blade slide into his skin.

The wolf barely stopped growling and turned toward the last remaining Skalengeck, blood and meat dripping from his muzzle.

Nick sighed and coughed, feeling a pain in his ribs as he thought that if the Skalengeck had had any intelligence, he'd have run away. Instead he'd stuck his knife into Monroe, managing to anger the wolf and gain its attention.

It was over in less than a minute. Nick remembered the wolf running over to him, whining as he nudged his bloody muzzle over Nick's arm. "Monroe, I need to you call Hank. Can you do that?" Monroe hadn't automatically changed back, but Nick didn't know if it were by choice.

Monroe huffed and turned in circles, obviously torn between running back to the road or staying with Monroe.

"Go," Nick whispered, knowing Monroe could hear him. "I'll be here when you get back."

And that was the last thing he remembered before waking to Monroe and Hank whispering to each other in his hospital room.

He must've moved or made a noise, because he felt the warmth of Monroe's hand pressed against his. "Nick, you awake?"

Nick managed to moan an, "m'wke."

"Do you know where you are?" Hank's voice.

"H'sptl."

"You remember what happened?"

"Three Sklng'ks."

"There were only two," Monroe corrected.

"Three. Sh't one b'for you got thr'." He almost smiled when he realized he could almost hear Monroe frown.

"I only remember two."

"No, there were three," Hank corrected. "Bud and I found enough body parts for three separate bodies." His tone indicated that it hadn't been a good time.

Monroe shifted, his clothes a whisper against his chair. Nick imagined his running an embarrassed hand through his hair. "Yeah, sorry about that."

"Hey, you saved Nick. While I don't really want have to sort through that again – ever – I'm glad that you're both still breathing."

Nick heard the door open, a female voice saying, "Mr. Monroe, why don't you come this way?"

"I'm fine!" Monroe protested. "I have an ice pack for my eye."

"Yeah, but you're dripping blood on the floor," Hank pointed out.

"That's not mine."

"Stab'd. In th'side," Nick offered helpfully.

"What?" More shifting from Monroe. "Oh."

"I'll stay here with him," Hank promised. "Go get fixed up."

Monroe leaned close, pressing his forehead against Nick's. "I'll be right back."

Nick hummed his agreement, enjoying the brief warmth before Monroe stepped away.

He heard the door close, the screech of Hank's chair sliding closer to the bed. "I know it's been a while, but your idea of wooing really leaves a lot to be desired."

Nick smiled. He knew he could turn his head, open his eyes, and see his ex-partner, but he was enjoying the floating feeling and just decided to enjoy the wave before the pain returned. "Did better earl'r. Went for a h'ke."

"I guess you should've stopped while you were ahead." Hank chuckled, and Nick heard a crackling sound. "Go to sleep, man. Heal. I'm just gonna sit here and read the paper. I'll give you dating lessons when you start to feel better."

Nick wanted to laugh, but he felt his ribs protest. Instead he just let himself float away.

Two days later Nick walked into the house, heading straight for the sofa. Mindful of his bruised rib, he collapsed gently on the cushions, happy to be home.

"I made you some lunch before I picked you up," Monroe said, bustling inside with Nick's bag.

Nick sighed, watching Monroe drop the bag by the stairs on his way to the kitchen.

Immediately, Monroe changed direction and headed to the sofa. "What's wrong? Do you need a pain pill? A blanket?"

"I'm good," Nick said, and Monroe fairly ran to the kitchen. It'd taken a couple of days before he'd been coherent enough to realize that Monroe was doing everything he could to avoid looking Nick in the eye. He moved constantly, covering Nick with blankets, adjusting the bed, drawing the curtain over the window. Nick fell asleep to Monroe puttering around and awoke to the same thing. No matter how he'd tried to get Monroe to just sit down and talk to him, he was hampered by his injuries. Now that he was home, he was determined to find out what was making Monroe so jumpy.

Monroe came in with a tray loaded with food, placing it gently on the coffee table. He handed Nick a bowl.

Frowning, Nick looked down at it. "This looks like a salad."

"It's not just a salad," Monroe corrected him, his focus on the food on the tray. "It's chunks of grilled salmon, which is rich in omega-3 and vitamins A and K. You also have green peppers, which are rich in vitamin C and help reduce inflammation. I cut up onions and added a little garlic; both are rich in antioxidants. Plus the garlic can rid the body of parasites. I also put some tomatoes in there. I brought a couple of different dressings, because I couldn't remember which one you liked."

"Because I don't really eat salads," Nick muttered, poking at a spinach leaf with his finger.

"You need to heal," Monroe said firmly, shoving a fork into Nick's hand.

"I could put most of this stuff on a burger," Nick offered.

Monroe paused. "I'll go get some ground beef from the store." He turned, heading for the door.

"Monroe –"

"I'll be right back."

"Monroe!"

Monroe paused, his back to Nick.

"Just come over here and sit down for a minute."

Monroe slowly turned, and Nick watched his eyes dart toward the kitchen as if he were trying to figure out an excuse to head in there.

"Monroe. Sit." Nick even patted the space next to him.

M

Monroe sat next to Nick, wanting to be anywhere but where he was. After things had settled – after the panic of getting Nick to the hospital, coming up with a suitable story with Hank about what had happened, limping around the waiting room until a doctor had come out and informed him that he was Nick's emergency contact, waiting for Nick to wake up in the room he'd been placed in after recovery – Monroe had a chance to sit down and think about what had happened, how he'd wolfed out and torn apart two Skalengecks in front of Nick.

At first, he'd just been elated that he could even do it at all. The feeling had flowed through him, as natural as it had ever been.

Then he started to realize that Nick had seen the whole thing. He'd shoved his muzzle, still dripping blood and flesh, into Nick's neck.

It wasn't as though Nick didn't know about it – he'd read the books in the trailer, seen the pictures. But it was one thing to read about it, another to see it played out in front of you, and yet another to know you lived with that, slept in bed beside it.

This self-hatred was one of the reasons he'd gone weider. He didn't regret what he'd done; they'd tried to kill Nick, and they weren't going to stop until he was dead. But he did regret what he'd become to do it. And he mostly regretted that his best friend had had to watch. He was horrified at what he'd become; he didn't want to imagine what Nick thought of him.

It was funny, actually. Monroe had returned to Portland, anticipating the time when he could leave. And now he was afraid that he wouldn't be able to stay.

He took a deep breath, staring at the plated casserole on the coffee table. He supposed he might as well as address it instead of continuing to wait for the inevitable fallout. "Look, I know what you saw… I mean… you're a Grimm, so you've seen some pretty ugly stuff, but it's one thing to know it and another to actually see it, right? I mean watch it happening right in front of you. Watching someone you know… So it's understandable… I mean, I can understand if you don't want…" He balled his hands into fists and rested them on his thighs. "Look. If you want me to leave – "

Nick's hands took hold of Monroe's left fist and slowly unfolded the fingers.

"Monroe, I want you to look at me."

And this too is what he'd been avoiding. He didn't want to see the look of horror and disgust, or even worse, fear in Nick's eyes. Just the thought of it reminded him of the blame and anger that had been in them two years earlier. The ball of dread in his stomach gave a lurch.

"You're starting to worry me, so I need you to look at me now." Nick's voice was gentle but firm, less of a demand but more of a simple statement of fact.

Monroe couldn't resist that voice with that tone, and he braced himself as he turned to face the most important person in his life.

Nick took one of Monroe's fists, gently opening Monroe's hand. Finally Monroe turned his head, physically bracing himself as his eyes met Nick.

Nick smiled, pulling Monroe's hand to his chest. "You haven't looked me in the eye since I got myself beat up by a few Skalengecks."

"They…" Monroe's voice dropped off as he stared at his hand now pressed against Nick's chest. He could always hear his Grimm's heartbeat, but now that he'd almost lost it, feeling it meant so much more. He scrambled to remember what he was going to say. "They were going to kill you."

"And then you saved me. You have no reason to be ashamed."

Monroe's eyes shot to Nick's, and he found understanding there. Confused, he said, "I'm not ashamed." He saw Nick's chiding look and amended, "I'm not ashamed of who I am so much as of what you saw."

"I've seen worse," Nick said, amusement in his voice.

Something in Monroe snapped at the realization that Nick wasn't taking this as seriously as he should've been. Growling, he pressed Nick against the sofa – gently, since the Grimm was still healing. "You've never seen me do that before." Nick opened his mouth, but Monroe pressed forward. "You watched me tear apart two Skalengecks, and Nick, I – I enjoyed it! I relished the feel of their entrails in my mouth, their blood on my tongue. Tearing them apart with my – "

The warm fullness of Nick's lips against his totally derailed Monroe's plans. He stilled, stunned, trying to reconcile that his dreams and reality had coincided. Then Nick pulled his lips away and returned with a different angle, his mouth open slightly, and Monroe's fragile control snapped. With a groan, he grabbed the back of Nick's head and slipped his tongue inside his mouth, and it felt like coming to a home he'd only found in his dreams.

M

Nick hadn't meant to do anything other than talk to Monroe, but watching his best friend rip into himself, blame himself for saving Nick's life… and all Nick could think about was taking the sad look away from his eyes. The next thing he'd known, he'd pressed his lips against Monroe's, something he'd wanted to do for so long but hadn't allowed himself. Monroe grabbed the back of Nick's head, and something inside of Nick wondered what had taken him so long.

And then Monroe had slid his tongue into Nick's mouth, and all Nick could think about was being surrounded by Monroe, his heat and his warmth.

A sudden pain in his shoulder forced his mouth away from Monroe's, and he suddenly remembered that he was still healing. He opened his eyes and realized that he now lay reclined on the sofa, Monroe draped over him. The pain aside, he kind of liked it.

"Shit," Monroe groaned, "I'm sorry." He braced himself to pull up, but Nick tightened his arms around Monroe's waist. "Nick, I'm hurting you."

"It just hurt a little bit," Nick said, "It's feeling better already."

"I'm too big," Monroe muttered, still trying to get loose.

"You're perfect," Nick said, still refusing to let go.

Monroe stopped, sighing, his eyes catching Nick. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Okay," Nick said, thinking quickly. "How about this?" He slowly eased himself around Monroe, sliding Monroe behind him on the sofa and edging them around until he was now on top. Grinning down at Monroe, he asked, "better?"

Monroe's eyes, now tinged with red, still looked worried. "I'm supposed to be weider –"

"It's my fault," Nick broke in.

Monroe snapped his mouth closed, confusion all over his face.

"If I hadn't tracked down that Skalengeck the other day, then those guys wouldn't have tracked _me_ down and pulled me out of the car. If I hadn't called you for help – "

"They were going to kill you! It wasn't your fault!"

"Then how was it yours?" Nick asked evenly.

"I could've done something else."

"Like what?" Nick fought his smile. "Arrest them? Oh, wait. You're not a cop. Beat them up? You were outnumbered, and frankly, they would've killed you if you hadn't woged. So basically, you're apologizing for saving my life."

Monroe looked confused. "You just shouldn't have had to see –"

"The part of you that you keep hidden? The part that the bad Grimm had tried to take away from you but that you had finally gotten back? Monroe, in case you haven't noticed, I'm still here. And I'm not going anywhere."

Monroe closed his eyes, shuddered, resting his forehead against Nick's like they did at night when they laid side by side.

Nick waited a few seconds before cupping Monroe's cheek. "Are you okay?"

Monroe huffed a laugh. "I should be asking you that."

Nick shrugged carefully. "You got hurt, too. Stabbed."

Monroe frowned. "I'm almost completely healed, but I still don't remember that."

"You don't remember that third Skalengeck you wiped your feet on either," Nick teased.

"Too soon for jokes," Monroe grumbled.

"Just tell me the truth. Do you want this? Us?"

Monroe opened his mouth, but Nick saw the shadows in his eyes and got worried, not that Monroe wasn't interested – he definitely kissed like he'd been into it – but Nick needed to hear Monroe actually say it.

"What?"

"I just don't want – what if I make another mistake?"

"Another mistake?" Nick wasn't following.

"Last time, it was Ros –"

Nick covered Monroe's mouth. "Remember when I told you that he was after you and not me?"

Monroe's frown deepened, and Nick could see his confusion.

"And then Hank agreed with me, but you just ignored us and forced the three of them to go to the meeting house?" He slowly lowered his hand.

"Those things never happened," Monroe whispered.

"That's right. We all made the mistake of thinking he was after me and not you, and it cost us three terrific people. And no, we can't guarantee that we won't make a mistake again. But what we can do is have each other's backs. And I promise you this: living with you is way better than just existing without you. It'll be epic."

Monroe's eyes softened.

"So let's try this again. Do you –"

"Hell yes!"

Nick didn't even try to keep the smile off his face or out of his voice. "Then it's all good. We're all good."

"You think it's gonna be that easy? A Grimm and a Blutbad?"

"We're already sharing a house and a bed," Nick pointed out. "Now we can have a little more fun in both." He waggled his eyebrows.

Monroe chuckled. "You must be the worst Grimm ever."

"I'm the _best_ Grimm ever," Nick corrected him. "I'm your Grimm."

"My Grimm," Monroe said in a whisper.

"My Blutbad," Nick said, closing his eyes for the best sleep he'd had in days.

The End


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